The Darkness in Their Eyes
by Rune Traverse
Summary: A multichapter story, postseries, with one take on what might happen between Mirelle and Kirika and their lives after the Manor. There will be shojoai and possibly some literal yuri in later chapters, hence the rating. Mirelle Kirika pairing, of course
1. A Shower of Remembrance

_Disclaimer: I don't own Noir – I wish I did, but yeaaaaah, no. So don't sic anybody after me. This also has nothing to do with my doujinshi fan-sequel, **Le Deux Retour**. Chloe isn't alive in this story, and none of the characters from there will be appearing here unless it's in drastically changed form. Time period is roughly a month or so after the end of the series. Mirelle has turned nineteen, and is a little over a year older than Kirika, who is still seventeen._

_The story itself came to mind while I was doing research for **Le Deux Retour** and started taking note of the "True Noir" eyestyles. This special style is the way Chloe's eyes are always drawn, and Kirika's eyes are done in this style when she is in her 'True Noir' mindset, especially near the end of the series and during her battle with Mirelle at the Manor. I always found this 'signal' of Kirika's mental state interesting, and after hearing Mirelle's comment of "I have a little Noir in me, too" in the last episode, I wondered if there was a similar type of situation or trigger for Mirelle. After watching all twenty-six episodes again, I found several moments where Mirelle actually does gain the True Noir style – and amazingly enough, most of them happen when Kirika is in physical or mental danger that doesn't relate to their job, or when she is faced with Chloe, her 'rival' for Kirika's affections. Which, when combined with my perverted muse, resulted in this 'what if?' little story. The rating comes for later chapters, which will contain shojo-ai and some yuri. The pairing is Mirelle / Kirika, if anyone hasn't guessed it yet._

_Note: Yes, I know the Japanese spelling of Artena's name is – obviously – done with an "r." The use of Altena is a personal choice because it sounds better in my head, so I tend to type it that way._

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**Part One: A Shower of Remembrance**

Kssssshhhhh – 

Mirelle Bouquet – one half of the legendary assassin team known as Noir – stood naked beneath the shower's warm, thundering spray, luxuriating in the steamy heat that plastered her golden mane to her back and flushed her pale skin to a delicate pink. Although it was late spring here in bustling Paris, the air still had a faint chill until early afternoon, and the nineteen-year-old Corsican enjoyed her warmth when given the choice. Long, hot showers, like shopping, were one of the few guilty pleasures she allowed herself. They also gave her time to relax, unwind and think.

Tilting her face up toward the showerhead, Mirelle closed her eyes, letting the water stream down her lean, athletic body. There was certainly no shortage of things to think about. It had been a month and a half since she and her partner, Kirika Yuumura, had limped away from the rain of blood and gristly death that had marked the end of _Le Grand Retour_, their final trial as candidates worthy to bear the name Noir. The end of a pilgrimage to the past they had begun nearly a year before, an ending to a dark, violent chapter in both their lives. In the short space of time since then, there had been no end to the dozens of things that had to be taken care of, set up or mended.

Some of them had been easy, like the first step of seeing to their wounds. Eyes still closed, the Corsican assassin fingered the two thin, scarred lines where Altena's glancing bullets had burned their marks into the flesh of her left shoulder. Although her more serious injuries – the knife wounds she'd received from Chloe – had already been well-bandaged by Kirika, the bullet burns had still needed to be dressed once they returned to the Jeep. Of course, her more pressing concern had been Kirika's gunshot wound. For a few heart-stopping moments, Mirelle had actually feared the bullet might have damaged her intestines or other internal organs, but thankfully, it had missed most of the major trouble areas. Still, blood loss and infection had been an extreme worry.

Mirelle shivered slightly in spite of the water's heat, remembering the feel of Kirika's lifeblood oozing past her fingertips as she applied pressure and dressed the injury. Luckily, her assassin's instincts had convinced her to stock their transport with as many first-aid supplies as she could gather. After some quick, careful cleanup and a change of fresh clothes, she'd settled her partner in the passenger seat with several soft blankets and begun the long drive back home to civilization.

They'd arrived in Paris after three a.m. the next night, exhausted and aching, but relieved to see familiar sights again. The first stop had been to a small, well-equipped clinic run by one of her 'doctor' contacts, a discreet man in his late twenties named Patrick who hadn't so much as blinked when they showed up. He'd patched the two of them back together with calm professionalism – Kirika first, under Mirelle's watchful gaze – then packed up a bag of supplies and made sure they would be safe getting home. The apartment had come soon after. Mirelle smiled faintly, reaching for the shampoo as she remembered the surprise on Kirika's worn face as she limped slowly inside the door. _"You – cleaned up."_ She'd spoken quietly, reddish-brown eyes scanning the apartment. Mirelle hadn't been able to suppress a smile, tired and drained as she was. The day between her first meeting with Remy Breffort and her decision to go to the Manor had been a long, lonely one, mind and emotions shattered nearly beyond repair. Cleaning the chaos left by the Knights of Paris had been thoughtless busy work, something to keep her hands busy while her head was elsewhere. The fix had been far from perfect – the long terrace windows had still been shot out, the walls and pool table riddled with bullet holes, and both their orchid and the customized computer had met tragic ends. Still, it had been home, and as the sun showed a golden hint over the horizon, it had been enough for them.

Mirelle's small smile turned to a wry smirk as she leaned back under the spray, rinsing suds from her thick mane. Those first few days had been rougher than even she expected. Kirika had developed a slight fever, and Mirelle had spent most of her hours watching over her partner, placing cool cloths over her forehead, changing her bandages and feeding her the antibiotics Patrick had prescribed. Any free time had been spent ordering replacements for their destroyed things and reestablishing her underworld connections, getting in touch with her contacts to find out just what was going on. She'd been surprised to find out that Soldats seemed content to leave them alone, at least for the time being. Breffort had actually put out the word – which Paula had carefully and faithfully reported over the secured phone – that he himself would welcome any friendly contact, but as long as Noir left Soldats alone, the High Council was prepared to do the same. Mirelle hadn't wanted to believe him, but she hadn't had much of a choice at the time. And it appeared that he was as good as a word, if the last few weeks were anything to judge by.

Still, that had been one of their easiest problems, and the two partners hadn't spent their time idly. After a few days of long, thoughtful conversation, both of them had come to the decision to stay as assassins for hire, albeit with a few more restrictions on their client lists. It wasn't a first choice, or even a second, but Mirelle and Kirika had admitted to each other that there were few other options in the matter. They had spent their entire lives as lethal killers, the very best in their field, with deadly instincts trained deep into mind and body alike. Going to a normal school, even taking a normal job was out of the question. At best, it would be a ticking clock, at worst, a powder keg. How long before one of them made a mistake in the heat of the moment and killed an innocent, or one of their enemies discovered their 'regular' lives and came after them? Shaking the water from her face, Mirelle laughed wryly to herself. They just weren't equipped to deal with normal life in the light, as strange as that sounded. So they would stay as Noir, angels of death in the shadows, dealing with their bloody, sometimes-monstrous heritage together.

_Together._ Sighing, the lean young woman reached for the soap. There was still a faint, lingering strangeness to the idea that she was still part of pair, that she still had her other half to guard her back and for her to protect. There was no real question that she cared for Kirika; she had known it even before she'd stood in the graveyard, the sky weeping with heaven's own tears, and found herself unable to pull the trigger. She'd simply never acknowledged the feeling to herself. Not until she'd faced that fiery abyss, her dark-haired partner hanging from her shaking arm, and the thought of living without Kirika had been too desolate to bear.

In her own turn, Kirika had shyly admitted during their talks that she couldn't imagine living away from Mirelle, either. Scrubbing at her arms with a washcloth, the blonde assassin snorted with amusement. They were certainly an odd, unlikely pair – the small, dark-haired Japanese girl, reserved and quiet, and the tall, golden-maned Corsican with her sharp tongue, incredible confidence and love of fashion – but in her heart, Mirelle knew they complimented and completed each other in ways no other could match.

Not that they were lovers, or any nonsense like that. The emotions of Kirika's final letter, the scene in the graveyard, Mirelle's own race to the Manor and refusing to let her partner fall, all the sacrifices and pain – none of it had come up in any of their talks. Pushing back wet bangs where they stuck to her cleaned face, Mirelle's eyes darkened slightly. They hadn't talked about it because there was nothing to talk about. Those were just the things one did for their partner, for their other half.

_And if you try hard enough,_ commented a snide voice in her subconscious, _you can almost hear the river in Egypt._

Of course, they had made _some_ changes. Mirelle's full lips curled up in a pleased grin as she poured some lilac-scented conditioner into her palms. With Kirika cooped up in bed until her wound healed, the blonde Corsican had taken to educating her partner in non-death subjects with the same relish she showed with her own hobbies. So far, the petite Asian had made her way through several of the classics, as well as a few other, more modern titles Mirelle had searched out. She was also learning about fashion, with somewhat mixed results, and cooking, which was turning out quite well. Though even better, at least in Mirelle's eyes, was her renewed interest in drawing and painting. She'd filled up several sketchbooks already, mostly with studies and various still-life scenes in pencil, all of them presented in shy pride to her partner for comment and approval. Actually, Mirelle thought that part was rather sweet, though she'd never admit it. She made a point of looking at each piece individually, these little pencil sketches that showed off the world as Kirika saw it.

The sarcastic little voice popped up in her head again, smirking. _You'd love seeing them even if they were the ugliest doodles in the world, as long as they belonged to your little Kirika._

Mirelle pointedly ignored that thought, tilting her head back so the water could pour down her chest and over her shoulders. A contented sigh escaped her. Their lives might not be usual in any sense of the word, but it was finally their own, without any puppet masters hidden in the shadows to manipulate their every move. The world was finally normal again, as normal as it would ever be for the two of them, and for that, she was grateful. Bending, she twisted the faucet knob, turning off the shower. _We really made it._

"Mireyu?"

She smiled. _As long as we have each other, we can survive._


	2. Distance Apart

_Wow, I actually got reviews! Sorry about taking so long with the update – hectic week IRL, as well as some debate as to whether I should divide this chapter into two halves or keep it long. In the end, you guys get it long. Aaaand, for ze reviewers:_

_Littleleaf – Is this soon enough? grin_

_Writer-Jim – thank you, thank you! Indepth reviews are appreciated more than you can possibly guess. And I'm glad you like Mirelle's attitude. No serious Noir story should be without it. _

_Kienda – The romance bit will be fairly slow . . . it's designed to take the whole story. Though there will obviously be nice little sprinkles of fun in every chapter I can manage._

_Raigeki – Thank you. This will definitely be continued – what started as a single story in my head turned into an entire "what-if" universe and three more stories after this one. Though whether anyone likes those will be up for debate. _

_And now, on to the (rather long) second chapter!_

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**Part Two: Distance Apart**

"Mireyu?"

The soft, ever-so-faintly accented voice of her partner echoed slightly off the bathroom tiles as Mirelle stepped from the shower, water trailing down her nude body in already-cooling rivulets. Pulling the curtain back into place, her cool, distant eyes softened for just a moment, lips curving upward in a fond smile. She never did get tired of hearing her name that way, laden with the accents of Kirika's native Japan. Shaking her head to clear it of such nonsense, she answered with a questioning sound, voice pitched to carry over the noise of the fan. "Ummm?"

Outside the partly-cracked door, a shadow appeared like magic, its slightly smaller, softer contours as familiar as the Corsican woman's own. Kirika Yuumura's low tone was as calm and even as it ever was; to most ears, it would have been completely flat, without any emotion at all. Only someone who knew the seventeen-year-old as closely as Mirelle did would recognize the soft cheer in her voice, the subtle mix of sound and inflection that meant she was content. "The tea is ready."

Mirelle nodded, though she knew Kirika couldn't see it. "I'll be out in a minute." She assured her partner. Kirika's shadow shifted, nodding, then retreated back into the main part of the apartment without comment. The older of Noir's pair didn't mind the silence. It was simply a part of Kirika, like her short, thick dark hair, Asian features and brown eyes marked with red. The blonde knew without needing to see that her partner was probably pouring them some tea, or settled beside the window looking for a new art subject. Lifting one of the white towels from the wall rack, Mirelle dried off quickly, then wound the cotton cloth around her damp locks. If she was lucky, there would be a few more sketches for her to see.

Wrapping another of the soft towels tight around her body, she tucked the free end casually over the top and slipped from the still-warm bathroom into the apartment proper. A warm, steamed-spice scent billowed out to embrace her, an undertone of sugar and cookies heavy enough to taste on her tongue. It seemed Kirika had found another recipe she liked in the books Mirelle had brought home. Though it was only a small hobby, the Japanese young woman seemed to like trying out different cooking and baking techniques, and Mirelle enjoyed encouraging her as much as she could. It was still fun to see Kirika's shy little smile, that rare expression she hardly showed anyone. And to be honest, her cooking was just as good as Mirelle's own. Her baking was certainly better.

Moving around the half-wall that separated their 'bedroom' from the rest of the apartment, the blonde pulled open a drawer in the glossy wooden dresser and rummaged through, searching for something she felt like wearing. She finally decided on a pair of pale blue jeans, not quite tight enough to hinder her movement, but certainly a good fit. To go with them, she pulled out a lavender halter top that tied at her neck and waist, then a pair of white tennis shoes with matching blue piping. Glancing up in the mirror, the Corsican beauty eyed her reflection critically for a moment. Yes, this was a good look. They only had a bit of light work for today, really – just some minor scouting before the true hit later this week. And Kirika really seemed to like the halter top.

_Maybe we should get her one when we go shopping today. That new place on le Rhine looked like it might have a few good outfits, and I know they have her size._ Mirelle mused to herself, idly running a brush through her still-damp hair. She'd been doing her best to 'help' Kirika restyle her wardrobe, with rather mixed results. Her partner now had quite a few more modern outfits tucked into her side of the large closet, including three or four pairs of comfortable, non-pink shoes. Though Mirelle still had no success in convincing her to wear anything that showed off her lean, delicate body to any real advantage.

Absorbed in her thoughts, the blonde hunted along the top of the dresser until she found the pale purple scrunchie Kirika had discovered in a boutique a few weeks ago. The small Asian girl may not have understood much about fashion, but she certainly had an eye for colors; not only did it match this particular top perfectly, but it had just the faintest shades of blue in it to set off the Corsican's sapphire gaze. Gathering up her long blonde hair, Mirelle pulled the thick, wavy tresses back into a simple ponytail, admiring the effect in the mirror for a moment before nodding. As usual, Kirika was right. In this outfit, her golden mane did look better tied back.

Finally dressed and comfortable, Mirelle trotted into the apartment proper on bare feet just as Kirika came out of the kitchen, teapot cradled carefully in her hands. A large platter of fresh cookies sat on the small, round table between their customary places, full of sugary goodness and still warm from the oven. Mirelle paused and raised an eyebrow, laughing wryly. "Found something to keep you busy again, hmm?"

Kirika ducked her head a bit, smiling shyly as she placed their usual drink atop the table. The teasing wasn't truly something new; Mirelle had ribbed her occasionally ever since they met, always with that sardonic smile and eyes glinting with sarcastic humor. But after their return from the Manor, the teasing had become gentler, more like a best friend and a partner rather than a sharp coworker who happened to share the same home. Strange as it was, each little joke was precious as gold to Kirika. She knew no one else rated teasing in quite the same way, and that thought gave her a sense of . . . affection, maybe. A glow of warmth and belonging, the knowledge that – if only in one small area – she was valued more than any other.

The blonde young woman took her usual seat at the table, and Kirika carefully poured the tea, only a very faint lingering stiffness in her left side suggesting the injury that could have claimed her life. Mirelle's eyes followed the movements almost anxiously, a faint frown shadowing the porcelain skin between her eyes, though she looked away when Kirika sat down. Okay, so she was still concerned. It was _justified_, she snapped at herself. Her partner had nearly been killed saving her life. And any weakness could destroy both of them if they were on a job. Still, some emotion was curled tightly in her gut, refusing to go away. To distract herself from the irritating direction her thoughts were heading in, Mirelle reached across the table and snagged a cookie, taking a quick, neat bite. Blue eyes widened, all worries vanishing in an instant. "Oh!"

Kirika looked up, face filled with concern. "Is it wrong?" She asked anxiously. She'd only tinkered with the recipe a bit, but she hadn't thought it would hurt. Were they awful? Her hand touched the table, ready to rise, and Mirelle waved her back down, shaking her head. The blonde swallowed her mouthful hastily, almost laughing. "No, no, it's not bad. These are _heavenly_, Kirika. What kind of recipe was it?"

"It was in one of those American magazines you bought yesterday." The young Japanese assassin blushed, ducking her head yet again. "I added some different sugar and marshmallow bits, and not as much chocolate or flour."

Mirelle took another bite and smiled, amused by her little partner's reaction. "Well, they're wonderful." She took a cautious sip of tea, humming appreciatively in her throat at this flavor as well. "You tried the new spice blend?"

"Umm." Kirika nodded with a sound of agreement, cheeks still flushed, but obviously pleased the blonde had noticed and approved. The fringe of her dark bangs flopped forward into her eyes, and Mirelle stomped on an urge to brush the adorable wayward hair back behind one ear. Instead, she replaced her cup in its saucer and favored the younger girl with a faint smile. "Your hair's gotten long again. Maybe we should have Paula cut it? We're headed there anyway."

Kirika tilted her head to one side, considering the tips of her thick mane briefly. Mirelle was right, it had gotten much longer than normal in the last month. The ends were now down a good inch past her shoulders. The Japanese young woman ignored a flicker of pleasure that her partner was asking her opinion, rather than demanding or choosing for her. "I – I think I'd like that." She agreed after a few seconds. A smile slightly for just a moment before her serious look returned. "The scouting today?"

"The Grayson hit." Mirelle nodded, swallowing the last bite of her cookie and brushing the lingering crumbs from her lips. For a split-second, Kirika wondered why she was almost jealous of the sugary treat, a faint tightening low in her gut only adding to her confusion. Why would she want to touch Mirelle's mouth? Shaking it away, she listened as the Corsican assassin continued, "It seems simple enough. In and out through the building next door – it's being renovated, so no real worries about witnesses. Today's just to find the cameras and scope out security."

"Eight bodyguards." The dark-haired young woman closed her eyes for a moment, reciting from perfect memory. "All armed with semi-automatic weapons and supplementary side pistols with a fourteen-capacity clip. Four trained in some form of martial arts. Grayson himself carries a 9mm."

Mirelle inclined her head, her own eyes warming with hints of approval. Not that the ability to repeat information was anything new; Kirika had a Soldats' trained mind, after all, and she was groomed for assassin's work. Still, the blonde couldn't help but smile, ever so slightly. It was _natural_ to be proud of a competent partner, she told herself firmly. "Don't forget, he's supposed to have a meeting late with some of his business partners." She reminded the younger woman. "If any of them show up early, we may have to factor them into our escape routes."

Kirika swallowed some of her own tea and nodded, agreeing quietly. For a while afterwards, the two of them sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the chink of a cup in a saucer and their own quiet breathing. Mirelle was occupied eyeing Kirika's choice of clothing for the day, pleased with the results she found. A soft, tank-top style shirt in dusty red, perfect for bringing out the reddish highlights in her eyes. Khaki cargo pants and brown leather hightops matched just as well, showing off the golden perfection of her tanned skin. It wasn't exactly what Mirelle would have chosen, but her partner still looked quite good. _No more silly pink shoes or plain, commonplace clothes._ The blonde thought with satisfaction. _Now she looks prettier, more confident, like she should._ Her face softened slightly, unconsciously, a new thought following the first two as naturally as breathing. _Not that she ever needed to look prettier than she already is._ Irritated, she shook herself. _Don't be stupid, Mirelle. The fact that she can keep a low profile is good for our kind of work._

On her own side of the table, Kirika was content to sit in the golden afternoon sunshine falling through the long terrace windows, snacking on their tea-cookies and admiring Mirelle's fine-cut figure. The Corsican beauty had picked her halter top and jeans outfit, one that showed off her lean, athletic body to some of its best advantages. Not that Mirelle didn't look beautiful in whatever she chose to wear; this was simply one of Kirika's favorites. Purple was a wonderful color to show off her sapphire eyes, and pulling back her long, wavy mane made her high cheekbones and delicate features all the more striking. Then there was her creamy porcelain skin, that strong, graceful hand lifting her teacup, the way the bright sunlight gilded a solid line down her elegant throat as she swallowed – it made Kirika flush, just a bit, a dizzying wash of heat flashing through her. The reaction confused her. Why would her body react so oddly? She knew she wasn't ill, and it wasn't related to her injuries.

In fact, the stunning sight made Kirika's fingers itch to pick up her sketchbook and pencil, but she restrained herself, taking a bite of cookie instead. She'd never asked Mirelle to pose for her, partly because she was worried it might annoy or insult the blonde Corsican, partly because even thinking about it sent a surge of strange, tingling energy through her veins. Not that she had never drawn her partner; indeed, her fellow assassin was one of her favorite subjects. Instead, the Japanese young woman had taken to doing quick sketches while Mirelle wasn't paying attention, fleshing them out in loving detail later on. A special pad she usually hid beneath all the others was filled with pencil portraits of Mirelle doing the dishes and making breakfast, Mirelle working on her computer, Mirelle sleeping, and even one or two of Mirelle stretched in a sun lounger at the beach. It was the sleeping sketches that were closest to Kirika's heart. They were the ones where Mirelle was relaxed, peaceful, with her guards lowered and her face soft. It made her look almost like a normal girl. _A normal angel, maybe._ The thought echoed softly in the corners of Kirika's mind, quiet and wistful.

Mirelle rubbed her hands together to clear away the last of the sugary crumbs, gaze falling on the spiral-bound books sitting to one side with a pleased expression. "Oh, did you have something new?" She asked, lips already curved into a happy smile as she reached forward to pluck the top pad from the stack. Kirika glanced up from her reverie, ready to nod – then froze, tan face flashing into pure horror. Several smudges of pencil lead across the front cover identified that particular sketchbook. _The_ sketchbook, with all her precious Mirelle pictures inside. She'd been looking at it while the Corsican was in the shower, wondering if there might be a way to manage a portrait of that particular moment. She must have put it back in the wrong place, the young woman realized, jolted with a thrill of fear. If Mirelle saw those pictures – instinctively, her hands shot out, grabbing the pad and hugging it to her chest. "No!"

Mouth open in a small 'o' of surprise, Mirelle stared, too shocked to do more than blink as the sketchbook was snatched from her hands. Across from her, Kirika was flushing heavily, obviously embarrassed, holding tightly to the pad as though it were a precious treasure. "It's – the ones in here aren't done." She half-stammered, voice only slightly more strained than usual. "They're – they're ugly, when they're not done."

Mirelle sat still for a few more seconds, completely mystified, but nodded slowly. Her little partner was so plainly worried about something. Maybe the pictures were a new style, and Kirika hadn't yet settled on the technique? That might make them ugly in her eyes, though the blonde assassin doubted that was really true. She didn't think anything Kirika drew could ever be ugly. Still, she wasn't going to needle the small Japanese girl over it. That would be cruel, and she would never hurt Kirika that way, not over some foolish curiosity. "Okay." Gently, she leaned forward and touched the next sketchbook on the pile. "Are these done?"

Swallowing hard, Kirika nodded mutely, still blushing so darkly her whole face was red. Mirelle did her best to ignore it, drawing the pad to her lap and flipping it open casually. Intently, she examined each page, even though she'd seen the first ones before. By the time she'd gone through to the new picture – a gorgeous pencil sketch of an orchid in full bloom – the younger woman had regained control, the flush on her cheeks faded back to their natural golden brown. "This is beautiful, Kirika. Are you going to add colored pencils to it?"

Kirika nodded again, loosening her death grip on the sketchbook just a bit and ducking her head shyly. Relief radiated from her like a touchable wave, eyes so grateful they made Mirelle's heart jump oddly. For a moment, the blonde wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her partner, assure her that nothing so silly or trivial would ever come between the two of them. Instead, she set the pad carefully aside and stood, smoothing out her shirt. "Come on." In the silence, her voice sounded almost like an order.

"We have work to do."

**Two days later:**

Slam! 

"Ugh, I can't _believe_ that idiot!"

Mirelle blew through the apartment door like an irritated golden whirlwind, nearly flinging the heavy wood back on its hinges. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she slammed her purse on the corner of the pool table before dropping into her computer chair in a grumbling huff. Kirika followed at a calmer pace, closing and locking the door out of habit as she flicked on the lights and gently set her Berretta down beside Mirelle's purse. Blood had welled and dried in an angry looking inch-long cut across one cheek, her newly-trimmed hair slightly more wild than usual, but she seemed otherwise alright. One scuffed hand rose toward her partner, hesitating in midair. "Mirelle, your arm – "

Glancing down at the fist-sized bruise already purpling savagely across her pale upper arm, the Corsican assassin grimaced and shook her head, loose blonde hair flying around her face and shoulders. "It's alright." She assured Kirika, her tone disgusted. "It doesn't really hurt too much." Propping her elbows on the raised border of the pool table, she set her head in her hands with a long sigh.

Tonight's job had been ten times as difficult as they had been told, and it rankled her. Although their scouting two days ago had pegged the video cameras and guard patrols, their client had 'misunderstood' the time of their target's business meeting with his fellow mobsters. As a result, she and Kirika had found themselves faced with nearly triple the amount of guards they'd expected, pinned down in an empty room by heavy gunfire while four opponents had closed in for melee combat. Even though they'd managed to take out the target and escape, Mirelle still considered it a flat-out disaster. In truth, her arm was a solid, bone-deep ache from shoulder to elbow, but Kirika didn't need to know that.

_I will _not_ look weak in her eyes. There was enough of that nonsense earlier._

Speaking of her partner – Mirelle glanced up as the faint, familiar rattle of the teapot broke the apartment's stillness. Kirika had vanished from the main room, though from the quiet sounds in the kitchen, she was fixing tea for them both. The blonde sighed again, eyes softening as she kicked off her boots. She would've been dead tonight if not for her partner, and she knew it. Two of the goons had managed to come at her from opposite sides, cornering her between their huge bulk and an open door to the hallway full of hired guns. The smaller of the muscle pair had given her the love-tap across the shoulder with a nice heavy pipe, sending her Walter skittering uselessly across the floor before Mirelle had taken him out with a well-placed heel to the throat. Unfortunately, that had still left the bigger man, who had grabbed hold of her in a massive bear hug, beefy arms trying their best to crush the life from her lungs.

She hadn't even seen Kirika reappear, her own opponent having been dealt with in a matter of seconds. The blonde's attacker had simply released her and slumped over, the bare spine at the back of his neck shattered by a single sharp blow. Mirelle had staggered, winded and off-balance, trying her best to recover. The fourth hired man that had managed to get in the room had come streaking at her, knife glinting in the shadows – and a dark-haired blur had stepped between them, dodging the razor-sharp edge with almost supernatural speed before launching a lethal attack of her own. That final idiot had gone down with hardly a sound, and the two assassins had beat a hasty retreat back into the safety of the night.

So a complete and utter fiasco, from start to finish. But they were alive, and that was really what counted. And Kirika shouldn't have been in there making tea; she had to be just as bone-weary as Mirelle was, and wounded besides. Looking up as the younger woman returned to the apartment proper, Mirelle felt her lips turn up just slightly, her expression contrite. "You don't have to make tea." She said gently. Kirika's eyes were downcast, voice little-girl soft. "I – I thought you might like some." _And I can't help with your arm,_ hung the unspoken rest of the sentence. She sounded almost ashamed, as if she thought she'd failed somehow.

Mirelle instantly felt worse. Here she was feeling sorry for herself while Kirika tried to take care of her. Some partner she was. Rising, she padded across the room, stopping in front of the Japanese assassin. "Is that cut the worst of it?" She asked quietly. Kirika hesitated, surprised. "There's – a few bruises." The tanned young woman admitted, looking instantly shy. "Not too bad."

"Hmm." Mirelle's hand lifted almost by itself, gently cupping Kirika's cheek as she examined the wound, sapphire eyes darkened with concern and intent. That slice looked like it might still hurt, but it wasn't too deep, only a few spots dotted with dark crimson. The bruises must be hidden under her thick hair. There didn't seem to be any more serious injuries, thank goodness. The golden-tan skin beneath Mirelle's fingertips was smooth, unexpectedly soft and oddly warm. Feather-light, the blonde ran the pad of her thumb across the cut, her motions fluid and soothing. Her voice came out strangely lower than she meant it to. "Does it sting?"

"Uh-uh." Kirika barely managed the negative, her stomach fluttering so badly it felt like there were a thousand butterflies tucked inside. No, the slice didn't sting anymore; it tingled, pleasantly, just like everywhere else Mirelle had touched. That by itself was odd. Usually, anyone trying to touch her got a bad reaction, possibly even a lethal one. She didn't like people being close at all, let alone the vulnerability that came with touching her face. So why did Mirelle's hand against her cheek feel so very good? Hazy, half-formed ideas flashed dizzyingly through her mind – she wanted to nuzzle her face into the Corsican's palm, to feel the light brush of that thumb against her lips, to simply close her eyes and savor the warmth and caring that showed in this one small gesture. What was wrong with her?

"Good." Gently, Mirelle smoothed her thumb over the cut again, unsure why she was doing it. A moment ago, she'd only wanted to make sure Kirika was safe and unharmed . . . but now . . . she could feel her eyes softening, layers of walls and protections falling away in the face of her partner's sweet, open expression. Mirelle shook herself mentally, puzzled and faintly disturbed. Why did she feel so odd? What was wrong with her body? Her muscles seemed loose, disconnected from her brain, almost floating – but it wasn't unpleasant. Actually, it felt good, like the flash of heat that washed suddenly through her body and picked up her pulse for the ride. And her breathing came just a hair faster . . .

She had to stop this strangeness. Now, before – she refused to think about that. Her hand fell away from Kirika's cheek, arm moving instead to pull the smaller girl into a strong, brief hug. "Good, Kirika. I'm glad you're alright." She hesitated for the barest instant, trained survival instinct warring with sudden, inexplicable need. The need won. "And thank you."

Kirika's breath fell from her as her partner's arm tucked around her, an almost inaudible sigh. She wasn't sure what to feel, although relieved, pleased, and strangely disappointed seemed to be the most dominant emotions. Part of her was nearly dancing with happiness. Mirelle had _thanked_ her! Not just thanked her, but checked on her, touched her voluntarily, _hugged_ her! Another part seemed relieved that nothing else was happening; until she understood these odd reactions, they could be dangerous to her, especially if they got worse.

But why was she so disappointed?

In the kitchen, the teapot whistled shrilly, shaking them rudely back to reality. Mirelle released the smaller girl quickly, and Kirika hurried through the doorway like a startled rabbit, leaving her blonde partner to stare after her with oddly conflicted eyes. Shaking her head, the Corsican growled soundlessly to herself, one frustrated hand to her forehead. She felt like she'd been slapped half out of a dream. What the hell was she doing?

The familiar _beep_ of her computer saved her from coming up with an answer – which was just as well, since she didn't have one to give. Turning with panther-like grace, she settled into the cushioned chair, snagging the mouse and automatically clicking on the mail icon. The standard couple of security screens and passwords went by in a moment, and by the time Kirika returned with two cups of fresh green tea, the blonde was already engrossed in their newest job offer. Murmuring an absent "thanks" and flashing a faint smile as her partner set one of the cups at her elbow, Mirelle scanned the e-mail for a few more minutes, then sat back with a sigh. "Well, we've got a new job. But it's – unusual."

Kirika said nothing, simply set down her tea and waited with calm, expectant eyes. "The target is one Eric Sanders, a leader of the militant Aryan National Pride Association in America." Mirelle snorted, disgust obvious on her face. "Apparently one of those racist societies, white power and other stupidity like that. It should be quick, an easy in and out. No more than a few days."

The Japanese young woman nodded. "So what's the problem?" When the Corsican raised an eyebrow, a slight smile touched Kirika's lips. Her voice was soft. "You wouldn't say it's unusual unless there was a problem." She reminded her partner. She could have said more – like how Mirelle's tone said she didn't particularly like the assignment, or how the way she turned and sat in her chair said she was tense and on edge – but those were things that didn't need to be said. Besides, it might spook the blonde assassin to know Kirika could read her that way.

"Well, the client needs this done in a hurry. But our target is at a retreat with his group for the next two weeks." Mirelle paused. For a moment, Kirika couldn't see the problem; with her golden hair and blue eyes, the beautiful Corsican would fit right in. And she was good at looking innocent and harmless when the situation required it. The target would be easy, feeling safe and secure, surrounded by people who felt and thought and looked the same way he did –

- oh. Kirika caught sight of her reflection in the darkened window glass, but she didn't need it. She understood the problem now. Her throat tightened, chest aching painfully, as if her body knew before her mind what Mirelle would have to do. "So I can't go with you?"

Part of her was hoping her partner would reassure her, insist that although Kirika couldn't help with the actual hit, she could certainly come along. Cover the getaway, stay in the hotel – it didn't matter, as long as she was there. But Mirelle's soft sigh and sadly-knowing eyes dashed that half-formed thought in an instant. The blonde shook her head. "No, Kirika." Her voice seemed almost apologetic. "It would be too risky. If I'm seen with someone," she hesitated, "non-white, it could sink us both."

Kirika nodded miserably, knowing her unhappiness was obvious and – for just this moment – not caring. Mirelle was going away, leaving her behind again. The forlorn sight stabbed at Mirelle's heart. Standing, the Corsican assassin lightly touched her partner's shoulder. "It should be quick." She spoke quietly. "Our client's already arranged for my entry into the retreat. I'll fly in tomorrow morning, take care of the target, and be back in three days."

The pain on the Japanese young woman's face didn't ease much, and Mirelle was struck with a sudden, sharp urge to do something, anything to make her partner smile. Gently, she ran her fingers through Kirika's dark hair, brushing the unruly bangs back from those reddish eyes. "Maybe we could go to that little set of boutiques you like, when I get back. The ones with the pet store on the corner?"

That got a small, shy half-curve of her lips, a faint sparkle flickering in her eyes. Encouraged, Mirelle went on, "And while I'm gone, you can relax, do some new sketches or try something new. Isn't there a new art store you wanted to take a look at? You can see if they've got anything good, maybe grab a few sketchbooks."

"Visit the library?" Kirika finally offered, peeking up at her partner. Was Mirelle really trying to make her feel better? The idea – and the soft touch of the Corsican's fingers – made a warm glow start somewhere in her middle. Mirelle cared! Oblivious to the younger woman's train of thought, the blonde nodded, face brightening with a pleased smile. "Exactly. And I'll hurry."

"Umm." Kirika nodded firmly back, the agreeing sound underscored by the slight, trusting smile that touched her expression. Mirelle released her partner and headed for the 'bedroom,' her own smile shifting unseen into a thoughtful frown. She disliked making Kirika unhappy, especially when it was something she might be able to avoid, but the strength of her own concern was almost frightening. The fact that she'd considered turning down the job because it required her to work solo, her desire to bring Kirika along in spite of the risks, her nagging worries about leaving the other young woman alone – all of them were weaknesses for an assassin, and Mirelle well knew it. And then there was that whole weird moment earlier . . .

_Maybe this is just what we need. The two of us apart for a while, doing different things for a few days. We haven't really been apart for more than a few hours since the Manor, if that. This job should help us clear our heads._

_We'll be back to normal in no time._

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_Yeeeeah, right, Mirelle. You keep thinking that. smirk_

_Hope you guys enjoyed this bit – the third should come a bit quicker, since I've already got half of it typed. Next up, the situation from Kirika's point of view. And the introduction of the main villain, whoot!_


	3. A Meeting of Convenience

_Wow, nearly double the reviews from last time. (insert glee-gasm) This particular chapter is a bit angsty and almost filler - no real romance, for those of you hoping, sorry - though I do love the plant scene fluff. Besides, it was necessary to set up Kiri-tan's POV and introduce Alexander. Even if he IS an asshole._

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**A Meeting of Coincidence**

It was lonely in the apartment by herself.

Kirika lay back in her customary place on the bed, hands folded behind her dark, tousled head as she stared up at the ceiling. Realistically, she knew it was foolish to feel lonely at this point. She'd been in the apartment by herself before, sometimes for hours, when Mirelle went out to do things on her own. It wasn't as if she were helpless. She knew how to cook and order delivery food, she had money available for anything she wanted to get or do, and if it came down to it, she was more than capable of defending herself against anything that might come after her. With nothing pressing to do and no job that required her attention, she was free to do whatever she wanted. For most ordinary people, she was fairly certain this would be paradise. Besides, Mirelle hadn't even been gone for more than two hours.

But realism had nothing to do with the faint ache in her chest, the odd feeling curled in the pit of her stomach like a small, shivering animal. This time was different than any time before, and though she might be able to fool her mind, her body knew the truth. Mirelle wouldn't just be gone for a few hours, to come striding through the door with a smile and that softening hint of warmth in her eyes. She would be gone for three or four days, away in a place that Kirika couldn't follow and couldn't protect her. The time stretching before the Japanese assassin was like an endless nothing, an empty space of worry where she would be forced to exist until her partner returned and life resumed.

With a sigh, the young woman rolled over on her side, rust-red gaze falling on a small, simply potted plant perched atop a stand near the dresser. Yellow and blue blooms peeked in patches through the leafy green foliage, and Kirika smiled slightly. These flowers were only some of several that now spread tastefully throughout the apartment, a soft riot of complimentary colors tucked in niches and settled on windowsills. Mirelle had ordered them on the internet while Kirika was recuperating, having them delivered downstairs to make sure she didn't have to leave her wounded partner's side for more than a few minutes. The Japanese assassin could vividly remember waking from one of her worst days, sick and aching, only to see a multitude of new blossoms and green shoots arranged at the foot of the bed on a fold-out table. Mirelle had been standing behind them, a hint of shyness in the wry smile that curved her lips. "I figured – maybe we could use another orchid." Her eyes had danced, the light in them somewhere between playful and amused. "A few of them. And some bluebells, and some of these little violet ones. What do you think?"

They had spent the next several hours happily deciding which plant went where, with Mirelle patiently shifting the pots while Kirika sat on the couch, propped up on pillows so her weakened stomach muscles wouldn't have to work as hard to keep her upright. In the present, Kirika's eyes brightened, remembering her partner's silvery laughter. _"We'll have a mini-forest in this window if we add a single new bush . . . what about this sill instead? Maybe we should put the blue-and-white ones on this ledge, and then we can move the yellow over here. What do you think, Kirika? Or do you like the purple ones here instead?"_

The remembered voice echoing in her head was enough to sooth her pained loneliness, if only for a moment. Kirika sat up, pleating the edge of the bed sheets absently between her fingers as she stared out the window with unseeing eyes. She knew, in part, why Mirelle had gone on this job alone, even though the target and the circumstances repulsed her. Things between the two of them were . . . strange, to say the least. After the horror of blood and death that marked their return from the Manor, Kirika had still been slightly afraid that Mirelle wouldn't want her around. That even after begging her to live, pulling her from the fiery abyss and oblivion of death, the blonde would want her to go her own way now that the trials were ended and their pasts revealed. When the Corsican beauty had soberly admitted she couldn't imagine living without her, Kirika's heart had nearly pounded from her chest in joy. The only person she cared for, the one she wanted to stay beside always, wanted the very same thing, felt the same thing! It was the most perfect ending she could imagine, a faerie tale she would never have dreamed she could have for herself.

Of course, it hadn't worked out quite as wonderfully as a true faerie tale. Pulling a pillow to her chest, Kirika sighed, delicate pointed chin resting atop the thick softness. In some ways, their relationship was almost the same as before – the comfortable silences, anticipating each other's moods, the two of them reacting to each other with liquid perfection on a hit. And the tea they drank, preparing dinner together, even the teasing glances and gently mocking eyes Mirelle seemed to turn on her partner whenever she found the opportunity. In some ways, it was even better. Mirelle asked about most jobs now, wanting her opinions instead of simply choosing for them; she had taken a deep interest in making sure Kirika knew about a normal life, even if they couldn't really have one of their own, and she seemed to love encouraging the small hobbies the Japanese young woman had shyly developed. She didn't seem to have a problem in touching Kirika now, either.

But in some ways, everything was even more uncertain than before. Setting aside the pillow again, the dark-haired girl slipped off the bed, padding bare-footed down the small set of steps to the apartment proper. Before she'd gone to the Manor, her sometimes strange reactions to Mirelle weren't important. She hadn't understood them, but at the time, it hadn't mattered; after all, the blonde Corsican had planned and promised to kill her once they uncovered the secrets of their shared past. Now that it was all behind them, though, every random stomach flutter, every small shock of heat and jolt of muscle weakness seemed new, exciting and confusing. Even worse were the emotions that invaded her heart and mind, even when they were on a job. The absolute elation that filled her when Mirelle voiced one of her rare compliments, the shy flaming blush at each gentle tease, the crushing worry that stuffed her heart in her throat if she thought Mirelle was in danger – she had no idea what they might mean, or even if they were normal for someone in their situation. As if there was a normal for their situation.

Mind elsewhere, Kirika picked up the teapot and filled it at the sink, hands moving absently in the same familiar routines they had followed more than a million times before. Although she had tried to explain her tangled feelings in the letter she'd left Mirelle, she was sure she'd failed miserably in that area. The blonde hadn't said a word about any of it since they returned, other than admitting she'd found the paper, and Kirika knew from the steely look in those sapphire eyes that bringing it up would be a very bad idea. Though who did that leave for her to ask? It was ironic, the Japanese assassin reflected as she pulled open one of the cupboard doors, that she knew so much about obscure and specialized things, yet so little about common, ordinary life. She could turn any item into a deadly weapon and kill with her bare hands, and she was an accomplished field surgeon, tracker, hunter and spy. Her memory was nearly perfect, she spoke more than a dozen different languages fluently, and she knew her intelligence was quite above average, especially for her age. But still, the most basic, integral parts of society seemed bent on eluding her grasp.

So where did a once amnesiac-assassin go to get information she couldn't ask her partner?

With a sigh, young woman tossed the wrappings of her tea bags in the trash. She supposed there was a bright side to the enforced separation. Without her reactions or any jobs to distract her, perhaps she could finally get to the bottom of their mystery. She knew how to get to the _bibliothèque publique_ – between the books and computers there, she was fairly sure she'd be able to find something that matched the physical symptoms, if not the emotional ones. She would get a handle on this, and everything would be fine –

Turning back to her finished concoction, Kirika stopped dead, one hand still frozen in mid-motion. Settled on the smooth countertop in their usual places, two full teacups glinted mockingly in the overhead lights, their reddish-brown depths topped with small, swirling white plumes of steam. The younger woman's stomach clenched, tight and painful. Even without checking, she knew one had two sugar cubes and just a dash of cream, the other a single cube and more cream. The second was hers – the first, Mirelle's.

Lips pressed hard together, Kirika spun sharply and stalked out of the kitchen, pausing only long enough to gather socks, shoes, jacket and a small backpack from their customary places. A few moments later, the front door not-quite-slammed shut, leaving the small, aching glimmer of normality behind.

These next few days were going to be hell.

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"I'm still not sure – is there a difference between – well what about this brush size?"

Random, disconnected snippets of conversation flowed around the Japanese young woman as she slipped smoothly through the wide, spacious aisle of the new art store, her small, well-dressed frame mostly unnoticed by the various patrons. A pale brown coat of soft leather, its inside lined with wool, went down to about mid-thigh; a pair of fitting, light blue jeans, deep green T-shirt, and brown leather hightops in a slightly darker shade completed her outfit. Kirika wasn't quite sure how to feel about her clothes. She knew they made her look nice, as Mirelle had helped her pick them out. Partly, that thought made her chest ache, reminding her all over again that she was alone. But it also made her feel protected, safe, wrapped in these garments the Corsican had specially chosen. Her backpack was cream-colored, with two pockets and a bottom of durable leather, currently half-filled with sketchbooks, painting supplies and colored pencils. It had seen quite a bit of action in the last few weeks, as the young assassin and her partner had searched out new places for her to sketch.

Pausing in front of a large display on pastels, Kirika picked up a deep, dark purple and examined it, noting the slight coolness and solidity of the shade. Mirelle had never quite understood that part, the way Kirika would hesitate and ponder over dozens of 'identical' colors before selecting one that seemed exactly the same as the four next to it. The younger woman couldn't really explain it, either, and after the first few tries, she'd given up. She simply saw something in the different shadings and tints, things that seemed to make a color appear warmer or colder, firmer or more fluid than another.

After a few moments of thought, the Japanese girl shook her head and returned the lean, rectangular block to its box. No, it wasn't quite right. She wanted something warmer for the edges of the orchid's shadows, something to capture the soft glow of the afternoon sun that had been streaming through the window when she first sketched the picture. Leaning forward to pick up another color, a sudden flutter of plain white at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Surprised, Kirika turned, eyes tracking the motion automatically. Oddly enough, it was a loose piece of ordinary, computer-printer paper, floating down as though someone had dropped it to the floor while walking. There appeared to be something drawn on the bottom side, with several small lead smudges on the back that looked like finger marks. A thoughtful frown touched the young woman's face as she bent to pick up the sketch. Who had it come from?

Flipping the paper over, she stared. It was _beautiful_. Whoever had done this was obviously an above average artist – even for a pencil sketch, it fairly shouted depth and complexity. The piece seemed to be a still-life of a tree planted outdoors, dappled sunlight glowing through the leafy branches and a wrought-iron fence bordering the trunk. Etched paving stones making up the ground suggested that it had been sketched at some sort of boutique mall, maybe near the canals, if the small grassy area behind it was the bank. The whole sketch seemed to have been done in mechanical pencil. But who could have done this? Kirika straightened, looking around for a likely owner. Two teenage girls – obviously foreigners, judging by the tourist-style berets and over-giggly attitudes – were chattering to each other in English and with one of the employees in stilted, heavily-accented French. She didn't think this gem could belong to one of them. A young boy and his mother were speaking with another store-worker about some kind of school project, the child wriggling with glee as he pointed out this or that type of poster board. Definitely not them, either. An older man stood with his arms folded in front of the paints, glowering at the selection of brushes with an almost stereotypical scowl. Kirika doubted he had the personality to draw something like the gorgeous snippet of art in her hand, even if he'd had the ability. No, it wasn't any of them. But who?

Her gaze finally caught a lean, athletic-looking young man, just about Mirelle's age, paused in front of a stand of colored pencils in the next aisle. With his back to her, Kirika could only see his rich, oak brown hair – short, almost a crewcut, with faint golden highlights – and the lightly-tanned skin at his neck and hands. He wore a dark, fashionable sweater and simple blue jeans, a messenger bag slung casually over one shoulder, and a rather battered sketchpad was tucked in the crook of his arm. Several loose papers stuck out at different angles from between the book's cardboard covers, some with the slightly ratted edges from being torn out of another pad, some the plain computer-printer kind like the one in Kirika's hand. Judging from what she could see of the sketches on them, this was definitely the artist she was looking for. Apparently, he hadn't realized this one had fallen out. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" The young man turned, smiling slightly, and Kirika automatically noted his square chin, the well-chiseled features and wide, full mouth that seemed to calm a nervousness she hadn't even realized she felt. His eyes were green, a deep wood shade, with just a hint of brown in their depths. Feeling oddly caught for a moment, she blinked and shyly held out the paper. As usual, her French was flawless. "I think you dropped this."

Now it was his turn to blink, open gaze shifting from her face to the sketch in her hand with a look of surprised relief. "Oh!" His smile widened gratefully, and one hand rose to gently take the paper back. "Thank you so much – I didn't even know I lost it!"

Kirika couldn't help but smile back, just slightly. The young man shifted his sketchbook in his arm, lifting the plain cover and tucking the sketch carefully back inside. "I just finished this one, and I hadn't had a chance to add the ink yet. I was thinking about using the new Micron pens from America. Have you ever tried those?"

"No." Kirika shook her head, cheeks faintly pink and uncomfortable at the casual conversation. She'd gotten a little better at speaking with people she didn't know since the Manor, but it was still rather unsettling. Glancing up at her face, the artist looked suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry – I didn't even introduce myself. My name's Alexander Hollinder, Alex." He held out his free hand, smiling sheepishly. "What's yours?"

"Kirika." The Japanese assassin responded without thinking, still slightly rattled at the cheerful openness in the young man. Alex's grin widened, apparently not noticing the girl's discomfort. "Hello, Kirika. Thank you again. I don't know what I'd do if I lost this." Glancing up at her backpack, his eyes danced. "Are you an artist too?"

Kirika nodded now, though she made no move toward her own sketches. She didn't catch any suspicious air about this boy, but it never hurt to be cautious, and it could hurt quite a lot if she wasn't. For a moment, the face of Milosh – lost forever to the world of light – flashed through her mind. Alexander didn't seem to mind her reservations, though, his own face bright with pleasure at finding a fellow worshiper of the arts. He gestured toward the display he'd been looking at. "I like to use colored pencils for different highlights sometimes. You know, the softer light shines, that kind of thing."

Turning, he picked up a middling green pencil from the racks, eyeing it critically before shaking his head and putting it back. "Of course, I'm a bit picky about the colors. Like this one – it's a nice, solid shade, but too dusty for the leaves and grass. They need something more vibrant, a little warmer."

"More like this one." Kirika reached forward and plucked another of the emerald pencils from the display, half-turning to offer it for the artist's inspection before blushing and ducking her head. She hadn't meant to be that forward. Alex, on the other hand, beamed and nodded. "Perfect!" He laughed, self-deprecating. "Usually when I say things like that, people look at me like I'm crazy."

Kirika nodded, still flushing a bit, but surprised to find someone who agreed with her. Alex shifted his book again and flipped it back open to the sketch Kirika had seen, glancing to the side with a grin. "What do you think for the sun on this bark here? The ridges are always a problem for me."

Hesitating, Kirika wondered if there was any way to politely excuse herself. She knew better than to get into personal conversations with people – in her line of work, it wasn't done. Still – turning back to the display, she trailed her fingers along the browns, finally pausing at a reddish one that seemed to have hints of deep mahogany. "I – I think this one will work. It's a redwood, right?"

Alexander nodded, still pleased. "Just the one I wanted." Holding up the pencil next to it, he explained, "I always get ones that're too dark, never realize it until it's too late." He tucked the two pencils they'd chosen into his free hand, plucking a couple more from the stand with quick precision. "This is great."

He might have said more, but a movement at the front of the store caught his eye. Looking up, Kirika realized a teenage girl standing there was motioning at him, gray eyes impatient in a porcelain face framed by long, straight blonde hair. Her full mouth was turned down slightly at the corners, a faint but unmistakable frown. Alexander sighed. "Damn."

Shaking his head, the young man snagged a few ink pens from a second stand. "I've got to run, Lisa doesn't like to wait." Gently, he grinned over his shoulder. "Thanks again, Kirika. I'll see you later." With a wave, he headed off to the front counter. Kirika watched covertly as he paid for his art supplies, then headed outside, the bag hanging from his wrist. One arm went around the teenager with a happy hug, the blonde girl's irritation fading into a wry smile that reminded Kirika of Mirelle's sarcasm. The two wandered off down the street side by side, and Kirika found herself watching until both were out of sight.

With a sigh of her own, she glanced at the display herself. Maybe she'd try a few of them. At least it was something to do with her time.

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_Poor Kirika. Sorry if the ending is a little rushed - after Alexander left, there wasn't really much more for her to do. Next chapter: Mirelle comes home, Breffort reappears, erotic dreams, and PIE! Frightening, ne?_


	4. Friend or Foe

_Yeesh, this took longer than I expected. (wince) Actually, Mirelle's conversation with Breffort took up all the time - must have rewritten it five or six times. But yay for plot development. As for the romantic bits, aside from fluff and little hints, that might take a while - this will build up gradually. Sorry for that._

_Oh, and the dream sequence in this chapter is dedicated to Indu, my best Gaian friend and the inspiration for my perverted muse. Love ya, woman. (laugh)_

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**Friend or Foe**

_Perfect._

Standing ankle-deep in the springy grass of the canal bank, Kirika glanced at the area around her and smiled slightly, pleased. Warm, early-morning sun fell all around, gleaming along the shimmering blue waters and dancing along the greenery underfoot; the sky was perfectly clear, hardly more than a few cottony, puffball clouds floating lazily overhead. Aside from a few people lounging and walking along behind her, this side of the canal was almost empty. On the other side, a boutique mall would provide people for watching and drawing. It was an excellent place to do some impromptu sketches.

Only for a few hours, though. Mirelle's plane was due at the airport in the early evening, and it would take her about forty-five minutes to get home after that. Kirika had figured it out in detail to make sure her plans for the night went right. She'd checked and double-checked each recipe in her menu, cleaned the apartment – not that there was much to clean, really – and written up a list of everything she could possibly need. After a little bit of relaxing time, she would make the rounds of the grocery stores, then head home and whip up the welcome-home dinner. She'd already baked the pies yesterday.

Of course, she'd also seen Alexander Hollinder yesterday. Her petite face took on a thoughtful cast. She had stopped at the new art store to get a few extra supplies, and he'd been inside, chatting with one of the male employees. It had felt – odd, to see him. As if she were breaking some sort of unwritten rule. She'd made sure he hadn't seen her, paying for her things quickly while he was distracted with his conversation, but it had made her feel almost guilty. It wasn't his fault she couldn't get close to anyone.

_Besides,_ Kirika reminded herself, _he has a girlfriend, that 'Lisa' from the day before. All he was doing was making polite conversation with another artist who was nice enough to give him his drawing back, and she was irritated. He probably wouldn't want to talk with me again._

Not that she minded, really. It would have just been nice, having someone she could talk to, especially about things Mirelle wouldn't understand.

Settling herself in the grass, Kirika opened her backpack and removed one of her newer sketchbooks, propping it on her knees and setting her small bag of pencils beside her. The backpack itself flopped over just a bit, contents fanning slightly out the opening, but that was alright. She knew she could stick everything back inside quick enough if it came to that. Leaning back against a good-sized rock, she brushed her bangs from her eyes, the corners of her lips curving up in a faint smile. _So, who should I sketch first?_

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"Kirika!"

The pencil in Kirika's hand twitched slightly, leaving a hardly noticeable squiggle in the dusty red outline of a building that rose half-finished from the paper on her lap. Instinctively, she dropped the drawing tool, her other hand moving behind her toward the Beretta tucked at the small of her back. A half-second later, though, she was startled to recognize the male voice. "Alexander?"

"Sorry." A shadow fell across the grass as the young man came up beside her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized sweatshirt and a cheerful, faintly sheepish grin on his face. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just surprised – I saw you at the store yesterday, but by the time I finished talking with Luke, you were gone. Mind if I sit down?"

Kirika shook her head mutely, too surprised to refuse, and Alex sat down in the grass on the opposite side as her backpack, long legs sprawling a bit atop the delicate blades. "I didn't want to miss you again." He grinned at her in a friendly, innocent sort of way. "That picture turned out so much better with the pencils you picked. I'd show you, but I didn't bring it with me."

"That's alright." Kirika ducked her head, smiling back just slightly in spite of herself. Truth be told, Alexander reminded her more than a little of Milosh, but in a good way. The young artist was like a happy puppy, amusing and playful without any predatory instincts just yet. Still, she had to ask. "Was your girlfriend irritated with you?"

"Girlfriend?" When she looked up, Alex was gaping at her, eyes wide and stunned. After a few seconds, he appeared to understand, bursting into laughter. "You mean Lisa? She's not my girlfriend, Kirika – she's my _cousin_."

Cousin? Kirika immediately felt like an idiot. Alexander grinned, patting her elbow – and apparently missing the flash of discomfort on her face at the contact. "She and my Aunt moved to England a few years back, but we grew up together, and they visit three or four times a year. I forget how impatient she can be sometimes." He shook his head. "No wonder you didn't stop to talk yesterday. If I had that scowl pointed at me, I'd be scared, too."

So that was what he thought, that she'd avoided him to keep from angering his cousin. Well, it was as good an explanation as any, really. Though why he really cared was a mystery to the Japanese assassin. Still, the idea that someone besides Mirelle _did_ care made her feel oddly bold, stronger and more confident than usual. A sparrow winged its way gracefully down to the grass in front of them, hopping slightly on its two thin legs as it searched for seeds and bugs in the dirt. Caught by the image, Kirika smiled faintly, flipping to a clean page in her sketchbook. "So – so what brought you here?" She asked, voice quiet and shy.

"It's my favorite place to sketch." The young man admitted, arms folded casually. "Actually, sketch and people-watch. It's a hobby of mine, especially in the morning." He grinned, leaning back against the boulder. "So what about you?"

"Just some new sketches." Kirika blushed slightly, motioning toward her backpack and the opposite bank with her free hand. Her right hand, now holding a deep brown pencil, was busy sketching out the rounded outlines of the sparrow's sleek, feathered body. "I was looking for someplace different today."

"Really? Can I see?" Alex looked avidly at the fan of sketchpads spread on her other side, one eyebrow raised. Kirika hesitated for a moment. It couldn't hurt to let him see her art. There was nothing really he could learn about her from it, anyway. Slowly, she nodded. With a gleeful grin, her fellow artist snagged the top book and set it in his own lap, carefully opening the pages. "Wow – this is incredible. Did you use paint here on this shadow, or regular ink? You're kidding, a calligraphy brush? I'd never think of that. Have you ever tried eraser smudging?"

The conversation took off swiftly from there. Alexander was surprisingly knowledgeable about different techniques, and he seemed interested and impressed by Kirika's various dabbles. Even better, he didn't ask anything about her personally, although he did volunteer some bits and pieces of information on his own life. The sun rose high, burning off the faint chill that still clung to the pavement below; people arrived, shopped, and left while the two of them chatted, pausing occasionally to sketch something that caught their eye. By the time Kirika glanced away again, she was startled to realize it was half-past noon. Her face filled with dismay. "Oh no!"

"What's wrong?" Alex frowned, one of her sketchbooks still balanced and open on his knees as he compared one of her techniques to his own attempt. Kirika snapped the pad in her hand shut, hurrying to gather up her supplies. "My par – " She managed to catch herself before finishing that sentence awkwardly, thank goodness. "My best friend, my roommate. She's coming back today from a business trip, and I'm making a special dinner."

"And I made you late for it." Looking instantly apologetic, the young man closed her book and dropped it into the open pouch of her backpack, hopping to his feet. One hand brushed absently at the back of his jeans to clear away any dirt. "I'm sorry, Kirika." Suddenly he brightened. "I know! Have you ever ridden on a moped?"

"Once or twice." Kirika replied absently, tugging the zippers shut. Mirelle did have a scooter, and they'd used it a few times, although not recently. Alexander grinned, motioning for her to follow him. "Come on, then! I have a spare helmet for Lisa, and she's about your size. We can hit the store and get you home in time to spare!"

Kirika paused for a few seconds, staring at the young man's lean back as he strode toward the street. Trained assassin instinct warred with her sharp desire to make things perfect for Mirelle's homecoming. It was absolutely stupid – but would it be more foolish to refuse at this point? Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she hurried after him, steps light and swift. This really would help, and it was nice of him to offer. "Thank you, Alex."

"No problem." He smiled over his shoulder as they reached a gleaming, deep blue two-wheeler parked near the curb. The expression was almost shy. "It's my fault anyway. But it's really sweet of you to make a special dinner for her."

Now Kirika smiled, a soft, gentle tugging of her lips while she pulled on the dark helmet. "Not really."

"She's special, too."

---------

_Thank god that's over._

Mirelle paused as she stepped from the air-conditioned lobby and into the bright early-evening sun, tilting her head back to feel the gentle caress of warmth against her face. Around her, straggling travelers trickled past, clutching at their tote bags, suitcases, backpacks and rolling luggage like anchors to the worlds they left behind; some headed inside, ready for parts unknown, while others were moving back out into the busy chaos of the Parisian streets. Mirelle could have cared less. She was home, back where she belonged.

Never again would she take a job like this last one. It wasn't necessarily that the hit itself had gone wrong. On the contrary, the idiots at the 'retreat' had been hardly any more challenge than children. She'd known it was going to be a piece of cake when she'd been able to pass off her bruised arm as the result of a mugging by a black assailant in the city. After that, it had been a simple matter of gaining the target's trust, getting him to a place on his own, and finishing him off. The whole operation hadn't taken more than three days, all told.

No, the problem hadn't been anything logistical, but strangely personal. Kirika had been on her mind constantly ever since she'd left the apartment. In the taxi, on the plane, at the retreat information seminar, and especially in her room at night, flashes of her dark-haired shadow had flitted through her thoughts. She'd wondered what her partner was doing, whether she was alright, whether Soldats had kept their word and left her alone. Whether Kirika was missing her as much as she missed the little Japanese. Sleeping had been an almost painful chore. The bed seemed somehow too large, even though she knew it was smaller than the one she shared with Kirika; the sheets had been too cold, rough and empty without the usual lean warmth curled safe on the mattress next to her.

The first morning, she'd woken with her eyes aching and gritty, body curled tight around one of the pillows and hugging it to her chest. Mirelle shifted uncomfortably, remembering the faint damp patch beneath her cheek, the lingering taste of saltwater on her lips. She'd managed to pass off the redness with jet lag, but it had been slightly unnerving to think she had been crying in her sleep. It was as if her professional cool had been cut in half without her partner at her side.

And the second night? A faint blush blossomed on her pale cheeks. Although she didn't remember much of her dreams, she knew Kirika had been in them. The scattered fragments she _did_ recall, though, were definitely not normal. _Hot, panting breath spilling across her neck, well-clipped nails scratching sharply down her bare back, the warm weight of a slender, familiar body lying over hers, pressing against hers. Her own hands sliding across smooth, golden-tan skin, fingers tangled in that thick, silky mane – the close, dizzying scent of her partner filling her nose, that heady mix of fresh tea and smoky-sweet jasmine that would always mean Kirika in her heart. A flash of that delicate face and those rust-colored eyes, vivid and filled with dark light, looking down at her in a way she'd never seen before . . . _she had awakened with a start that morning, breathing hard, her entire body flushed and aching. Then the stark, painful emptiness of the room had almost been enough to drive her mad.

Shaking herself in the present, Mirelle twitched the strap of her carry-on bag on her shoulder, regaining her wavering poise. The jump in time zones and altitudes must have messed with her head more than she realized, that was all. It was something to note for later jobs, in case they ever went somewhere similar again. But she was finished with it for now. All she needed was to hail a cab, and she'd finally be back where she belonged.

"Pleased to be home, Miss Bouquet?"

She knew that voice. Male, slightly older, with a refined elegance regardless of which language it spoke. Her mind automatically readied her body for a fight, reminding herself that there were a few potential witnesses still close by and that her Walter was tucked in the holster at the small of her back. Thank goodness she'd taken care of _that_ in the airport bathroom, the minute she'd passed through the security checkpoints. Glancing to one side, she raised an elegant, nonchalant eyebrow. "Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Breffort, but yes. Going somewhere?" _Far, far away_, hung the unspoken implication.

"Actually, I came to meet you, my dear." The silver-haired gentleman stood calmly a few feet away, hands resting on the head of his ornate cane. Remy Breffort looked immaculate and professional, just as he had the last two times they'd met; a dark blue business suit, white dress shirt, black tie and well-kept black shoes. The eyes that seemed to echo the faint smile on his lips were blue as well, their shrewd intellect overlaid with a deceptive serenity. He actually looked pleased to see her, as amazingly strange as that seemed. "I thought perhaps you might like a ride back to your apartment."

"Really." Mirelle managed not to snort in sarcasm, but it was a very near thing. A young man – hardly more than twenty-five – stood to one side of Breffort and a couple steps behind, dressed like any other businessman. The gun under his suit jacket was hardly noticeable, and he carried it with an air of someone accustomed to its weight. On the other hand, he didn't seem to be paying as much attention to her as to their surroundings, and he stood far enough back that she could have drawn, hit Breffort and still gotten out of the crossfire range before he could get his weapon free. Not a bodyguard, then, unless he was a very inept one. An assistant, perhaps. Did Soldats give their Council members personal assistants? "I would have assumed you were a busy man."

"Ah." Breffort waved his hand negligently, dismissing her half-scornful claim with an air of amusement. "I can't deny my business takes up quite a bit of time, but something such as this, I can make all the time in the world." His mouth twitched, the ghost of an almost impudent grin given the circumstances. "Have you any other objections, lady Mirelle?"

Mirelle couldn't help it – she was tired, achy, irritated, and _more_ than ready to be home with her Kirika. Arms folded, she turned and faced Breffort directly, using a glare she knew could put terror in the hearts of most people. "How about the fact that I just don't _like_ you?"

The young man behind Breffort took a step backward, eyes wide in fear . . . but the Soldats' High Councilman simply laughed, face lighting up as if she'd said something amazingly funny. "Oh, my dear, leave it to you to be so refreshingly frank." He smiled, holding up a hand. "Although considering the circumstances of our last two meetings, I can certainly understand. If I were in your place, I would very likely feel the same. Assuming I had survived, which is rather unlikely."

The grin faded, eyes calm and direct as they focused on her face. "But I would like to speak with you, and I would like to help you get home. Although I have no right, I would ask that you allow me this privilege."

For the first time, Mirelle hesitated. If it had been any other Soldat, she would have told him to get lost in no uncertain terms, and probably threatened him besides. But strangely, there was something about Breffort that gave her pause. Perhaps because he had told her about the Manor, given her the directions to save the one thing that mattered in her life. Or perhaps it was because of something in his eyes, the faint spark that seemed almost like caring. Could one of these beasts, who had so horribly destroyed their lives time and time again, be able to care? She didn't want to believe it. Still, he didn't seem to have any reason to lie.

Slowly, she nodded. "Fine." Her voice came out laden with sarcasm as she flipped her hair back over one shoulder. "I suppose you know the way?"

Breffort nodded in return, ignoring the faint squeak that came from his young companion. "Indeed." Turning, he led the way to a black limo parked a few dozen feet back at the curb, windows just slightly tinted. The armed 'businessman' hurried past them to open the back door, looking rather rattled. Breffort smiled genially, motioning toward him. "I almost forgot to introduce my assistant, Duncan Anderson. Say hello, Duncan."

The young man blinked nervously, and Mirelle tried not to laugh as his eyes darted from his employer to her. Poor boy, she'd obviously scared him. Still, his tenor voice was admirably steady, if not entirely sincere. "It's nice to meet you, m'am."

She nodded, unable to keep the faint grin from twitching at the corners of her mouth. Breffort glanced over his shoulder, and she realized he was smiling, too. Damnit, she hadn't meant for him to find her amusing. Brushing by the older man with a silent snarl, she stepped boldly into the gorgeous leather-upholstered interior, ignoring a soft snort of laughter from the High Councilman. Breffort climbed calmly in after her, settling comfortably on the deep brown bench-seat, left leg slightly stretched out to ease the ache in his sore knee. Mirelle knew it was the reason he carried a cane, knew he limped ever so faintly without support, though she hadn't managed to find a corresponding injury in any of her intel. Anderson followed, shutting the door with one hand. _And sitting next to his master like a good dog._ The blonde Corsican was surprised to notice the snide thought was just slightly less sarcastic than usual. Her mental revelation was startling; could she actually be feeling _soft_ for these two? In a blink, her eyes had gone steely and cold, and she leaned back against the seat, crossing her legs as she waited. "So, now that the niceties are out of the way, what do you really want, Mr. Breffort?"

Anderson twitched a bit, no doubt insulted on the Councilman's behalf, but Breffort simply smiled, his own eyes faintly regretful. "I suppose it was foolish to hope you accepted my plain answers." He sighed. Around them, the limo started up, merging into the steady stream of airport traffic as they headed for the apartment. "Would it bother you if I admitted that I wanted to make sure the two of you were well-healed?"

_The two of us – _Mirelle's heart tightened with a momentary flash of fear for Kirika. If these bastards had laid a hand on her partner, they were going to pay dearly . . . strangely, though, there was no veiled threat in his tone, nothing more than a deep, carefully hidden flicker of concern. It was a bit disconcerting from someone she was used to considering solely as an enemy. "Maybe." The blonde met his gaze with her own, answering honestly for a change. "We're fine, though."

Honest didn't necessarily mean detailed.

Breffort's smile returned, quiet and gentle. "I'm glad to hear that." He replied warmly. "I was a bit worried, considering," a pause, "the last time I saw you myself."

Mirelle could well imagine. The last time he'd seen them with his own eyes, they'd been limping out of the Manor, having just defeated Altena and survived the final 'trial' of Noir. Kirika's gunshot wound had been bleeding freely, her own wounds were either red and inflamed or hastily bandaged, both of them spattered with blood and grime, tear tracks down their faces; they'd been a right bloody mess, the pair of them. One corner of her mouth curled up in an amused smirk. "Looks can be deceiving."

The elder High Councilman tipped his head back and laughed, the sound rich and somehow comforting. "That they can." He agreed. Anderson was staring back and forth between the two of them, obviously more than a little confused. Both assassin and Soldat ignored him, Breffort leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I was also – pleased, to find out the two of you were staying together."

"Oh?" Mirelle raised an eyebrow, unable to think of an adequately snide reply for that comment. Breffort nodded. "Presumptuous though it was, I worried about you and young Miss Yuumura." He tilted his head to one side. "Emotions can be – more chaotic and frightening than physical danger, sometimes. And leave worse scars."

A faint thread of unease started tickling Mirelle's spine, though it had nothing to do with any physical threat. "She's my partner." Her voice came out slightly clipped, and she cursed herself for it. "I would never just _leave_ her to fend for herself. We're not like you people."

"Ah." Breffort didn't smile, but something in his eyes said he wanted to, as annoying as that was. One elegant silver eyebrow rose in return. "Then the two of you – "

"Are partners, family." Unbidden, her dreams from the night before flashed in her head, echoed with a memory of that strange moment three days before. The blond Corsican throttled down a sudden strange blush, keeping her expression composed with effort. "Nothing else."

Breffort nodded, face warm and serious without a trace of smirk. Mirelle was glad; if he had smiled, she might have had to hurt him. Instead, his voice was neutral, no inflection at all. "Very well. As long as the two of you are happy, I'm very pleased."

Mirelle paused, then nodded in return. Somehow, she believed the comment, inane as that might have been. For a few minutes, they rode in silence, an odd quiet that was both comfortable and faintly tense with things unsaid. Outside, the busy traffic gave way to tree-lined streets of tall apartment houses, glowing golden-red in the setting sun. Almost home – the thought made her heart jump, warmth touching her eyes for no more than a moment. Home, with her Kirika.

Breffort folded his hands across his knees, still leaning forward, a flash of concern once more in his expression. "I believe you also have a right to know, my dear. There has been some talk lately in the underworld about the two of you."

"Oh really?" Mirelle snorted lightly. This was more what she had expected – though in truth, she'd heard a bit of it from Paula and the rest of her contacts already. And she'd expected Breffort to be threatening her, not warning her. The High Councilman smiled wryly. "Indeed. By maintaining your independence, you've created – an imbalance, I suppose you could call it. Some see you as a potential tool, some as a liability, and some have disregarded you entirely. At the moment, there are several different factions jockeying for power, both within Soldats and outside. It could get rather dangerous to stay openly in Paris until things have sorted themselves out."

"We live in dangerous times." Mirelle quoted, the usual smirk crossing her lips. "So are you one of those factions looking for power, Breffort? Are we a potential tool for your games?"

Breffort shook his head, looking slightly amused. "Oh no, my dear. Personally, I think anyone fool enough to try and use the two of you deserves whatever punishment they get." His smile was calm and oddly genuine. "And in truth, my reasons have nothing to do with power, either gaining or keeping it. I only wanted to warn you of your danger. Perhaps to suggest a holiday? I hear many people enjoy Hawaii, especially the Americans."

"The Americans enjoy quite a bit that isn't good for them." The blonde Corsican remarked dryly. Breffort laughed, and she continued in a more serious tone, "If these fools want to come after us, let them come. We won't hide from our past or our demons anymore."

The limo pulled up at the curb, and Breffort nodded. "I thought as much. Still, I felt you should know." He watched with a smile as Anderson scrambled to open the back door for her. As she climbed gracefully from the back of the auto, though, the silver-haired High Councilman leaned forward to touch her forearm lightly. Surprised, Mirelle turned back.

"You may not be hiding from your past, my dear, but you're still running. Be careful you don't lose something precious by doing it."

Speechless, Mirelle stared at him with wide eyes. Once again, there was no innuendo, no dark ulterior motive that she could see. Instead, his gaze was so direct and understanding she could hardly stand to meet it. Slowly, she drew her arm back to her side. "Goodbye, Mr. Breffort."

He smiled and nodded, once again the aristocratic gentleman. "Goodbye, Miss Bouquet. Give my regards to Miss Yuumura."

Anderson shut the door, and the limo pulled away from the curb. Mirelle watched until it turned the corner and vanished completely; looking up, she realized without surprise that he had dropped her directly in front of their apartment building. _Pain in the ass. _Shifting her bag on her shoulder, she slipped inside and started up the steps. Unconsciously, her pace quickened as she topped the second staircase, then again at the third. By the time she reached the door of the apartment, her keys were in her hand. The door unlocked in an instant, swinging open in a cloud of mouth-watering scents that, in truth, the blonde Corsican barely noticed. Where was –

Inside, Kirika's sensitive hearing had picked up the swift, scatto steps of Mirelle's boots on the stairs, and a wide smile curved her lips while she hurried to make one last check of her preparations. Everything was in place. Looking up as the lock clicked open, the young Japanese couldn't help the smiling warmth that swept her face. "Mireyu!"

_Kirika._ Fierce relief flooded through Mirelle at the familiar sight of her partner, only a few feet away, her expression soft and full of joy. Two quick strides, and she was through the door, knocking it shut with one hand while the other tossed her carry-on bag aside. Kirika was not-quite-running now, hurrying to her, and Mirelle found herself catching the smaller, hurtling frame with open arms. Holding the Japanese young woman against her own body, close and hard, Mirelle breathed in the scent of Kirika's hair, eyes sliding shut by themselves. She was _home_ – this was what she'd wanted, what she'd been missing for three days.

Kirika snuggled in the warm embrace, surprised and more than a little pleased. She hadn't really meant to hug Mirelle; as much as she'd have liked to, it just wasn't the way they did things, and it might have made the Corsican angry. But the sight of her golden-maned partner in the doorway, finally back, had nearly undone her completely. She'd managed not to sprint down the hall – that would have been horribly embarrassing – but she knew she was moving much faster than normal by the time she reached her fellow assassin. Then Mirelle's arms had been flung around her, nearly crushing her against that lean elegant frame, one gentle hand stroking her short hair for a moment while Mirelle rested her chin atop the unruly mane. Kirika almost forgot to breathe, comfort and safety welling up through her. "Mireyu."

"Kirika." Mirelle sounded relieved and faintly teasing all at once. "So you missed me, huh?"

"Mmmm." Kirika agreed. It was easier to admit with her head tucked against Mirelle's shoulder, hiding her from that probing sapphire gaze. The arms around her loosened, pulling back so Mirelle could look at her. The blonde was smiling, eyes full of warmth, and gentle fingers tucked a wayward lock of dark hair behind Kirika's ear. One eyebrow rose. "Is that – veal I smell?"

Kirika blinked, suddenly reminded of her work. "Oh!" She nodded, blushing faintly, and couldn't help the shy smile of her own. "Yes. Breaded veal." Padding back down the hall, she motioned toward the pool table. "And fettuccini alfredo, and steamed cauliflower with butter. It's almost ready."

Mirelle's eyes widened, stunned. Now that she was paying attention to something besides Kirika, she realized there was a stunning array of scents coming from the kitchen. And even from the direction of the bathroom. Awed, she realized the entire apartment had been cleaned from top to bottom as well. "You did all this in three days?"

"Um-hmm." Kirika ducked her head shyly. "Did you want to shower first?"

Thinking for a moment, Mirelle couldn't help the warm, fierce grin that seemed to spread from her face through her whole body. "I think I will – that plane was a nightmare." Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she winced, making Kirika laugh. "A _quick_ shower. Very quick."

The Japanese young woman smiled back, the expression glowing. "There's that new violet-kiwi wash you like." She offered. "And the peach lotion."

Mirelle laughed and shook her head, grinning as she picked up her bag to toss it on the bed. "Maybe I should leave more often." She teased. "I get presents!"

Kirika squeaked softly from the kitchen, and Mirelle just laughed again. "I'm kidding, Kirika. Never again. And I brought you a few things, too."

Feeling her partner's warm, surprised glow in spite of the walls that separated them, Mirelle stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the fan, smiling as she caught sight of the two bottles placed carefully on the sink. Breffort didn't know what he was talking about, she concluded, turning the shower knob before stepping hastily out of her clothes. She and Kirika were fine just the way they were. Thinking of his warning, she stuffed it firmly into the back of her mind.

_I'll tell her in the morning. After all, tonight is special. What's the worst that could happen?_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Poor Mirelle, so sure of herself. And so completely wrong. (smirk)_

_Next one is an action chapter, and should set the stage for the major fun that'll be starting up. And there'll be quite a bit of fluff building. Pleeeeease R&R?_


	5. Revelations and Rescues, Part One

_Wow. These two chapters - or parts one and two of chapter five - were HARD to write. Writer's block finally went away a few days ago, and I've been typing like mad ever since. (snicker) I actually had quite a bit of fun with the fight scene and Andre in general, though, since he's such a fun character._

_And I want to thank everyone for the reviews. The romance WILL pick up in the next chapter, in case anyone wonders. And disregard Indu's review, she's a nitwit. (beats with a brush) I already told you, that stuff won't EVER be seen._

_Now on to the Chapter!_

_---------------------------------------------------------_

**Chapter Five: Revelations and Rescues – Part One**

"Ow. Damnit!"

Dropping the file folder she'd just grabbed back on the pool table, Mirelle winced and sucked at her newly-bloodied finger, muttering another startling selection of obscenities under her breath in several different dialects. After a few seconds, the bleeding stopped, and she examined the sliced, stinging flesh with a frustrated glare. _Perfect. Absolutely perfect._

After last night, she'd thought life truly _was_ perfect. Being home with Kirika had been flat-out wonderful. She'd showered with her new wash in no more than ten minutes – a record for her – then grabbed a pair of soft tan slacks and one of the button-down white shirts she usually wore to bed and the presents she'd tucked into her bag. Kirika had set up their plates by then, complete with drinks and a few fresh-cut flowers in a vase on the table. Dinner had been beyond fabulous, each dish restaurant-quality. The snide voice in her head piped up, obscenely cheerful. _You wouldn't have cared if it tasted like sawdust and lead._

Growling at herself, Mirelle snagged the file again and not-quite-stuffed it into a business-style carry case. The blonde Corsican had insisted on taking care of the dishes while Kirika made tea and served the pie. Not that there were many of them left; she'd discovered her partner had washed and put away most of her utensils already. _I thought she gave in too easy, the little sneak._ Then the two of them had curled up on the couch with their dessert so Kirika could open her gifts. The look of awed glee on that delicate face had been worth all three days of garbage, as far as Mirelle was concerned. Each present – the glittering glass sun-catcher in the shape of a dragon, the small stuffed cat holding a plush paint brush, the new novel and round pillow embroidered with the Kanji for "peace" – was held up and cradled in her hands, with an expression of such surprise and happiness it had been touching.

Her mind flashed on the image of Kirika grinning shyly, the white and orange kitten plush perched on her shoulder, fingertips tracing the cover of the paperback in her lap and warm, liquid eyes seeming to stare straight into her soul. The thought sent an odd quiver of heat through her stomach, and her smirking subconscious gave a hoot of laughter. _Oh, and you weren't out to get just that kind of response._

Mirelle throttled the urge to throw something across the room, tucking her cell phone in her pocket instead. Yes, the night had been perfect for the two of them, right down to the gentle hug she'd given her little partner before flicking off the light. Kirika's pure happiness then had been almost breathable. Hell, they'd even woken up with their hands touching, fingers curled against each other between them on the mattress. A dark frown twisted Mirelle's full mouth. She should have known it wouldn't last.

And it really hadn't lasted much beyond that glorious morning wakeup. They'd been talking about what to do today after their meeting with her police informant, and Kirika had happened to mention that she'd visited the new art store. And then she'd mentioned her meeting with her new _friend_ Alexander. Mirelle's lip curled in something very close to a snarl. It had been quite a shock, her little Kirika admitting to a friendship. Oh, she hadn't _called_ him a friend – just said very calmly that she'd met him at the art store, and that he'd talked with her a few days later and given her a ride – but the blonde Corsican knew better. Kirika had the same look in her eyes that she'd had when she first spoke about Milosh. A gentle light, that warming flicker in the depths of her gaze and a faint softening of her mouth. She cared about this young man.

All of which irritated Mirelle, a lot more than usual. _Damnit, she should know to be careful! What if this boy is a Soldat, or someone else out to get the two of us? She was alone – even armed, she should have known better!_

And that was more or less what she'd told Kirika, including Breffort's carefully-worded warning from the drive yesterday. The gentleness of her partner's sweet face had vanished instantly, lips thinning and shoulders tightening before she turned away to the bathroom. And their wonderful morning had disappeared behind cold walls of silence and frustration, irritation and hidden pain. A tingle of regret raced through Mirelle's chest, slamming head on into an answering wave of annoyance. It wasn't as though she was saying anything Kirika didn't already know already. Hell, they had been through this once already, and Mirelle refused to watch as the little bit of personality the Japanese young woman had carved out for herself disappear into self-loathing.

_You didn't have to be so rude about it._ Her mental voice retorted. Its tone was mocking. _Then again, that's not the only reason why you got prickly, is it? You hate that anyone else could ever give her that happy look. It bothers you. A looooot. Just like it did when she made friends with Milosh. And heaven help if someone like Chloe came along – _

Mirelle clenched her jaw, shoving that thought from her consciousness. Alright, yes, it bothered her that Kirika might be growing away from her. They were partners! It was a given, damnit. They relied on each other for their lives! The image of Kirika's sad eyes intruded on her mind, and she sighed, her anger deflating suddenly. That still didn't mean she had to be a jerk about it. It wasn't Kirika's fault they were raised as they were, became what they were. Mirelle had managed a few casual friends, a semi-normal life before Kirika came along. She couldn't blame the younger woman for wanting the same.

As though on cue, Kirika slipped out of the bathroom, ducked head still damp from the shower. The small Japanese assassin trotted slowly toward the kitchen, avoiding her partner's gaze, every movement subdued and tense. It was a sight that made Mirelle's heart fall. "Kirika?"

The younger woman halted but didn't look up. Mirelle padded over and gently brushed the fringe of bangs away from Kirika's face, fingers soft, half expecting her hand to be slapped away. Instead, rust-red eyes rose slowly, pain and very faint anger darkening their depths. "Yes?"

Mirelle had to slam down her first instinct to chicken out. "I'm – " She paused. Apologies had never come easy for her, not even as a child. Now they were damned-near impossible. It was a weakness, a vulnerability, like soft emotions or trusting someone completely. _Never mind that Kirika already hits all those._ Her mental voice mocked. The Corsican locked that thought firmly away. She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing _for_, really. After all, she'd meant every word of her warnings.

But still –

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." She pushed on before she lost her nerve completely. Her voice was clipped, strong and offhand, calm as though she were stating everyday facts. It was almost believable. "And I'm sorry – I made you feel bad. I didn't want to."

_God, how stupid does that sound?_ Mirelle winced inwardly. She sounded like some kind of naughty, petulant child. For a moment, she was tempted to can the whole idiotic idea. They'd gotten over worse problems, after all – compared to Soldats and Altena, a spat over some fool in an art shop was just . . . stupid. It wasn't like this would make or break their partnership or some nonsense like that.

But there was surprise in Kirika's eyes now, flickering across her face briefly before it melted away, taking some of the anger and hurt with it. Her eyes lightened, just a little; the corners of her lips curled up slightly, a faint, almost trembling smile. The warm brightness made Mirelle's heart skip a beat, softening her resolve to stay cool and collected. More words tumbled free before she even realized it. "I just don't want you to get hurt." Again, her fingers trailed gently through Kirika's hair, the gesture as soothing to the blonde Corsican as it was to her partner. "You don't deserve that."

Kirika wondered if her own heart had stopped entirely. Mirelle was _apologizing_? That just didn't happen. Oh, she'd said "sorry" on occasion, if she got in Kirika's way or something like that. But the younger woman knew it was incredibly hard for her partner to admit any mistake. And to not only apologize for hurting Kirika, but to admit she cared about Kirika's feelings?

_It's a dream, it has to be._

Mirelle was looking down at her, almost anxiously, her hand paused half-through Kirika's dark locks. The bare edge of worry in those azure eyes was enough. Reaching up, the Japanese assassin caught Mirelle's elegant fingers in her own. "It's alright, Mireyu. I understand." And she did, in all truth. Mirelle hadn't really been saying anything she hadn't already thought herself. It had only been the way she'd said it that was painful to hear. "And – and thank you. For caring."

The Corsican's pale face warmed, and for just a moment, Kirika could have sworn she caught the briefest flash of heat glowing in the depths of her gaze, the embers of a smoldering emotion she'd never seen in Mirelle before. Then it was gone, the usual smirk settled firmly on those full lips as Mirelle squeezed their joined hands once before letting go. Tossing her head, she turned aside to look for her purse, voice casual and saucy. "Yeah, well, don't forget it."

Kirika managed not to laugh out loud, but it was a very near thing. Instead, she gave a cheerful sound of agreement, reaching over to collect both her coat and Mirelle's pale brown purse from atop the half-wall. The blonde Corsican's eyebrow quirked, taking the offered leather handbag and settling it over her shoulder. Her sapphire eyes ran over their outfits critically. Kirika had chosen dark blue jeans and sneakers, matching the long-sleeved dusty blue shirt beneath her gray V-necked pullover. Her jacket was a brown leather one Mirelle had picked out especially for her, the one with soft sheepskin lining that brought out the vibrant color of her skin and eyes.

Amazingly, they matched rather well, although they'd both chosen their clothes separately. Like her partner, Mirelle had picked jeans and sneakers, hers a slightly lighter shade of blue. The silken, sleeveless top she wore was deep green, a filmy gray scarf tied around her waist like a belt, her long leather coat a darker brown than Kirika's. Casual, but well put together, and quite stylish. Mirelle nodded firmly, pleased. "We look good. Come on, let's go. Andre's probably at the café already."

---------------------------------------------

Andre Bridges – twenty-eight years old, detective second grade of the Western Paris Precinct – sprawled comfortably in one of the hard-backed chairs outside the Solar Café, sipping at some luke-warm coffee and soaking in the warm afternoon sun as he waited for his contacts to show. A white, button-down shirt, casual tan slacks and dark, sensible shoes did little to minimize or tame his lean, athletic frame, especially with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. Nut brown hair, trimmed short and faintly spiked at the top, glinted in a stray sunbeam. A square chin and firm, smiling mouth led up to a rather average nose, slightly crooked from having been broken during his more wild patrol days; chiseled cheekbones cradled warm hazel eyes, his intent gaze watching everything from beneath strong brows. If one didn't notice the gold shield, handcuffs and automatic tucked carefully in his belt, he would seem almost painfully ordinary, completely ignorable. Nothing more than a fellow Parisian enjoying his day.

Which, of course, was how Mirelle liked it. Andre grinned mentally, taking a swig of the cup in front of him. He'd known Mirelle for four years now, and in her own way, she was as close to him as a younger sister. They'd met when she approached him during his stint on homicide rotation, before he'd been officially promoted. His grin widened. _That_ encounter was still as fresh in his mind as the day it happened.

"_Andre Bridges?"_

_Surprised, he glanced up from his coffee and the case notes he'd brought to the café with him as slight, slender shadow fell over his table, the feminine voice speaking his name in completely unaccented French. She was standing beside the other chair, a vision of sleek, sun-kissed beauty – long, thick blonde hair falling in waves down her back, creamy skin, a lean, lithe frame and delicate, aristocratic features. Her red, sleeveless top appeared to be silk or velvet, her short skirt black leather, and the knee-high matching boots clung to her well-muscled legs like second skin. A business-style leather case hung from one wrist, stylish sunglasses hiding her eyes. She couldn't have been more than fifteen._

"_Andre Bridges?" She asked again, one elegant eyebrow rising. Twenty-four-year-old Andre had managed to swallow his tongue and reply. "Yes. And you are?"_

"_Mirelle Bouquet." The girl pulled out the chair across from him and sat without waiting for a response, leaning the case against one metal seat leg as she crossed her ankles. Leaning one elbow on the table, she propped her chin in her hand and studied him from behind those dark shades. "You would be the new Homicide patrolman. Second application for detective currently waiting for approval, already rejected once for a dispute with the captain over treatment of a suspect."_

_Andre had wondered at the time if it weren't some kind of elaborate joke. Where the hell had this kid gotten her information? Just who the hell was she? He was sure she wasn't the daughter of any of the Homicide Squad members; she was too polished, too professional, with an air of confidence and leashed potential that was almost scary in one so young. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, m'am." He'd narrowed his eyes, not staring her down, but definitely intent. "You know quite a bit about me."_

"_That's my business, Monsieur." Her full lips curled up in what he would come to know as her trademark smirk, removing the sunglasses with a smooth, practiced motion as she tossed that thick hair over her shoulder. "I am a private detective. Finding out about people is what I do, and I am very good at it."_

"_I would assume you have to be." Andre had retorted before he thought. Her smile grew just a bit, and her eyes met his directly, frighteningly sharp intelligence with the wry humor in those sapphire depths. "So tell me, Miss Bouquet. Why would you have pulled up all my information? I can't think of anyone who might want it. I'm just a lowly public servant."_

_Folding her sunglasses, she had tucked them in the business case at her side, and Andre had been struck all over again with how young she had to be. At least, on the outside – he had seen enough of the street on his time to know the mind behind that youthful face was obviously honed, quick and practical. "You don't do yourself justice, sir." Her tone was calm, no flattery, simply stating the facts. "In four years, you have an outstanding record, both on the streets and in more complex cases. You have a keen mind and a willingness to take risks in order to do your job well."_

"_And that risk-taking is something you were looking for." Andre could see just a hint of it in her expression, and he couldn't help but think it was interesting. In spite of the strangeness in this whole thing, he was beginning to admire this girl's mix of forward manner and calculated secrecy. She reminded him of himself._

_There was a definite hint of wry amusement in her smile now. "Actually, yes. I've come to you with a – proposition, I suppose you might say." Elbow still on the table, she leaned forward slightly. "I have quite a few contacts in various areas of society, all necessary in my line of work. But I am looking for a contact higher within the department itself."_

"_An informant?" He had made a tsk noise, surprised at his own daring. Something told him it was not a wise idea to antagonize this girl – and yet, something also told him that she would tolerate his light sarcasm. "I suppose this is the part where I ask for money in exchange for giving you classified information."_

_Mirelle laughed. "Oh no. I know better than that, Monsieur Bridges. Everything I've learned tells me that you are a fine officer and an honest man." She shook her head, reaching into the case. "No, I'm looking for something a bit closer to a confidential contact, a mutual exchange of information. I will make sure you have access to the information my other contacts provide, as well as any information I can find myself."_

"_And in turn?" Andre was cautious, but he couldn't help being intrigued. She withdrew two plain-looking file folders and set them on the table atop his own, a spark of definite pleased humor in her eyes. "In turn, I want access to the resources and information of the department. Running licenses, tracking down addresses, warrants and the like. You will, of course, be free to hold back any information you don't feel comfortable sharing."_

_Opening the top folder, she tapped a photo clipped to the front, obviously taken in surveillance. "Proof of my value as a contact. I believe your team has been looking for Monsieur Devereux?"_

_Andre had gaped for a second, all professional cool forgotten. Lucius Devereux had been fingered in four murders and a grievous assault as well as nearly a dozen drug offenses. One of the victims had been the young mother of two small children. His entire department wanted this bastard's hide nailed to the wall, but no one could find him. "And you know where he is?"_

"_It's all here." She agreed with a nod. "It's a rather nice hotel, all things considered. There's also a list of the contacts within the public security office." Her eyes twinkled. "With his capture, I would say your detective application is assured, wouldn't you?"_

_Andre had wondered if dancing gleefully in the middle of the café would be considered impolite. Though of course – "I assume you came to me because you didn't want any of this made official."_

"_Right." The girl nodded again, the hint of approval on her face showing that she was pleased he had grasped the situation. "Few people consider someone as young as I am worth their attention, and fewer still would agree with my terms of privacy or information."_

"_And you assume I will?"_

_Mirelle's smirk was almost wicked now. "If you were going to ignore me," she pointed out reasonably, "you would have told me to get lost by now."_

_Andre grinned in spite of himself. She was right. "So what's in the second folder?" He asked._

"_Some work I need. My client is looking for some background information on a former partner of his, and his address and phone number are both unlisted." Standing, the girl had flipped out her sunglasses and put them back on, case grasped loosely in one hand. "There's an unlisted phone number in the second file – you can use it to get in contact with me when you have the information."_

"_Should take about a week." Andre agreed absently, mind already focused on the Devereux information. Still, he could hear the cheerful sauciness in her voice. "Good. Then I'll see you around, Monsieur Andre."_

Back in the present, Andre grinned wryly. The Devereux bust had been the biggest in his career, and he'd made detective two weeks later. He'd also done some checking into Mirelle Bouquet, her family, and her client. Not that it had been easy, or complete, by any means, but it had been enough to pacify the worst of his suspicions, and in the end, he'd passed on the information she'd asked for. It was the beginning of a beautiful partnership, all things considered. She made sure he had information about the current ebbings of the street world, and managed to dig up a wide variety of 'dirt' on any suspect he needed. He, in turn, passed on any tidbits he thought she might find interesting, and took care of discreetly running any information she needed. They met roughly once a month or so at various cafés around Paris, more if one of them needed something specific.

Although her past was still little more than the barest details to him, after all the time they'd worked together, he knew that he knew Mirelle rather well. So he'd been stunned about a year ago when she'd suddenly brought home a 'partner' after an unexplained trip to Japan. Kirika Yuumura was a small, pretty girl, roughly two years younger than Mirelle and even more mysterious. At first, Andre hadn't known what to make of their apparent partnership; Mirelle acted as though she could have cared less about the other young woman, while Kirika was simply emotionless about the whole thing, following silently behind the blonde like a well-trained shadow. Neither of them had been willing to divulge anything about their connections to each other, and after the sharp warning glare Mirelle had given him the first time he asked, Andre had kept his questions to himself. But as time went on, he'd also noticed the changes between them. Oh, they'd been slight at first, so slight most people would never have seen it. Small moments of silent companionship and understanding, the flash of softness and warmth in Mirelle's eyes or Kirika's face, a touch of hands or arms that lingered for a few seconds more than strictly necessary. By the time their apartment had been shot up, he'd been pretty much convinced there was more to the personal side of their relationship than even they suspected. And once they'd returned – well, by now, he wondered if their feelings were obvious to everyone but the two 'detectives' themselves. _Maybe not. Not everyone knows Mirelle like I do._

Of course, _saying_ anything about it to their faces would be just slightly suicidal. Not that he believed Mirelle would hurt him without a good reason; but then again, he didn't necessarily believe the two of them were simple private detectives, either. Normal PIs weren't attacked at home and their apartments riddled with bullet holes because some client or target got disgruntled with the way they handled things. They certainly didn't get kidnapped – Mirelle's hurried story about Kirika visiting her 'foster family' aside – or come home with gunshot wounds, knife injuries and enough bruises to give a whole new meaning to the term 'domestic abuse.' As far as Andre was concerned, he believed they did detective work when it suited their needs, but that couldn't possibly be their main job. Just because he'd never turned up anything to prove them dirty didn't mean they weren't, in spite of his own feelings to the contrary.

"Thinking deep thoughts, Andre?"

The teasing voice pulled him out of his reverie, and the brown-haired detective glanced up into Mirelle's smiling face, azure eyes sparkling wryly. As always, Kirika stood a step and a half behind, favoring him with a slight, shy smile. Andre flashed them both a wide grin, getting swiftly to his feet. "Only reminding myself once more that your incredible beauty is untouchable by my mere mortal hands, lady Bouquet."

Kirika's lips twitched with laughter, although Andre caught a faint darkening in her amazing, coppery eyes. Jealousy, quite probably – not that she recognized it herself. He felt a bit bad about that, although he knew the young woman understood it was only teasing. Mirelle favored him with a haughty death glare, pulling her chair back and dropping into it with casual elegance. Her tone was pure mockery. "Now if only we could teach you to keep that glib tongue still."

"But then how would we get his information?" Kirika asked quietly, straight-faced as she settled beside her partner. Only the flick of her gaze to Andre's showed that she was teasing. He chuckled under his breath, dropping back into his chair now that they were both seated. He'd always liked Kirika's rare flashes of humor. Mirelle glanced over and raised an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth quirking upward before she turned back. "You called the meeting, Andre. What's wrong?"

Andre sighed and shook his head. When Mirelle decided to shift into business mode, he knew better than to keep teasing. Reaching for the battered briefcase at his side, the detective produced a thin case file and dropped it on the table. "Remember the Garrison case?"

Mirelle nodded, eyes narrowed as she flipped open the folder. It had been one of their smaller cases – a white-collar executive had been accused of embezzlement by one of his partners, and hired a hitman to kill his accuser. Andre had no idea how Mirelle had gotten hold of _that_ information, but they'd followed both money trails straight back to him, and he'd been put away for several years. A tall, thin waiter paused beside their table, pad in hand, and Kirika calmly ordered tea for them both, though Andre knew from experience her attention didn't waver from the neatly-ordered sheaf of paper in front of the blonde. Not that there was really much to it; the standard prison inmate forms, a few witness statements, and a scribbled page of notes from some patrolman's report. "Garrison's getting out in a few days, and we have a couple leads that suggest he might be looking for some revenge."

Mirelle snorted, an unladylike sound that somehow still suited her perfectly. "After the ringer you people put him through, I'm surprised he would have any clout left."

"He managed to get only three years." The detective pointed out. Taking a sip from his coffee, he set the cup aside and leaned forward on his elbows. "We're fairly certain he's got some assets hidden, probably in a Swiss or Caribbean numbered account. The search warrants didn't turn anything up, so we couldn't prove it, but – "

"We all know that proving something and knowing it are two different things." The blonde smirked faintly, and Kirika nodded, eyes glinting with amusement. "So you think he might be going after you?"

Andre hesitated. "We're not sure yet." He admitted honestly. "I was more worried because of these reports."

Carefully, he handed over a second file, this one with pictures and more handwritten sheets. "All of this is unofficial, but we've had some surveillance done on some of his old contacts. They've been making deals with some factions of an unknown criminal syndicate. The department hasn't been able to track down more than a few bits and pieces of intel on the organization. None of it's good. And they all seem like pretty big, bad, well-connected bastards."

"You're worried they might come after us." Kirika translated quietly. Andre's lips twisted in a frown, and he sighed, nodding. "I keep you two off the radar as much as possible, but nothing is fool-proof. These guys are good enough that they might be able to put together the smallest pieces."

Mirelle looked darkly thoughtful, brushing back a hanging lock of thick gold curl with an absent hand. The detective knew she was thinking the same thing he had earlier; if Garrison found out they were the ones who tipped off the police, they would land themselves directly in his sights, and he definitely would not be happy.

The two young women shared a look between them Andre couldn't quite read. There was deep, shadowy knowledge there, the soft flickering of question and answer, a flash of mocking humor and the barest touch of gentle assurance, all shifting and rolled together. It was like a puzzle, smaller pieces forming a picture he wasn't privileged enough to see in all its dark glory. Mirelle's brows drew together, the corners of her lips turned downward; Kirika nodded, ever so slightly, a hint of softness in her face. "Doing something like that, working with criminals, it can't be healthy." She commented quietly, as though to herself. "Even if he doesn't get caught by the police, he might get himself killed."

Andre blinked, surprised by the strange moment of apparent concern for a merciless criminal, but Mirelle's faint, worried frown transformed into an amused smirk. "We can always hope." The blonde agreed, an undertone of laughter in her voice. Those sapphire eyes flicked to Andre, and for just a second, the detective honestly wasn't sure if the last bit was meant as a joke or not. There was something frighteningly – _real_ in that gaze, a razor-sharp something that was both blazingly hot and icy cold. Whatever it was, it seemed like it could look right through him.

The sight rendered him temporarily speechless; he could only blink foolishly as Mirelle pushed gracefully to her feet, Kirika following a few seconds after. The tall, slender blonde flashed him a surprisingly gentle smile, patting his hand. "Thanks for the warning, Andre. Take care of yourself too. Garrison wouldn't mind having your head on a pike, either."

"Such a wonderful image." He managed to retort, his voice ever so slightly strained. Kirika's lips curled up with laughter, and Mirelle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah." Reaching into the leather case at her side, she tugged out several plain folders and dropped them on the table. "Here's a couple of the cases you asked about. Call you if we get some intel?"

He nodded, and with a wave, the two young women strode calmly away. Andre watched them go, noting the confident sway of Mirelle's hips and the smiling glow of her profile as she turned to listen to her partner. And of course, the predatory grace of Kirika's strides, the way her eyes danced as she spoke to the gorgeous blonde at her side. Taking a deep breath, he sighed and shook his head. _Emotionally oblivious, smart-assed, cocky, mysterious little idiots, the both of them._

Sometimes, he wondered just what the hell he'd gotten into with those two.

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_(snicker) Trust me, Andre, you don't want to find out. On to the next chapter!_


	6. Revelations and Rescues, Part Two

_As promised, Part two of Chapter five! Actually, it could probably be a separate chapter on its own, but it was originally intended as a single, so I wanted to tie it in somehow._

_In case anyone wondered, Andre's name is homage to the Anton character in Bakablonde's fic _"Washing the Dishes."_ Awesomeness all the way, and it made me glee. I'm kind of a fan of references - anyone that can guess them all gets virtual cookies! (snicker)_

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**Chapter Five: Revelations and Rescues – Part Two **

A few hours later, the soft chiming of bells rang through the air as Mirelle stepped from the small corner store, shifting her bag slightly higher on her shoulder. She was alone, although both young women had stopped by the apartment right after their meeting with Andre. The blonde Corsican had wanted to get started right away; Kirika, on the other hand, had begged off to pick up a few more art supplies at one of her favorite stores. After assuring her partner she wasn't going to see anyone, the Japanese young woman had happily taken off with her backpack full of sketchbooks.

Mirelle herself had made the rounds to a few of their nearby contacts, looking for any news about Garrison and his people. None of them had heard anything yet, but now that they knew she wanted the information, it was likely one or more of them would get back to her in the next few days. Once that was done, she'd found herself near a cluster of small gift and novelty stores, so the blonde had decided to take a look around.

Smiling cheerfully, the Corsican assassin started off toward home, swinging her purse a bit as she strode along. Though the stores had been small, she loved shopping in general, and she'd come across a few small treats and trinkets she happened to like. Again, that small mental voice popped up in her head. _And of course, you just _had_ to find the perfect box of chocolate for Kirika._

Mirelle sighed inwardly, but she couldn't argue with herself. She had spent quite a bit of time in the last store, trying to find some of those white chocolate rounds with peanut butter filling Kirika had liked before. A small, square box of the candy was currently tucked safely in one corner of her purse, gift-wrapped with a pretty little length of red ribbon.

_She deserves it after last night. Maybe I'll even get home soon enough to cook something good. Maybe ravioli? Though we had pasta last time. Chicken and rice?_

The blonde Corsican was so wrapped in her thoughts, she almost missed the tiny crying noise that squeaked from somewhere nearby. Still, the lost little sound prodded in her mind, and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking around with a small frown. It sounded almost like a baby's whining – but what would a baby be doing here?

To her right, an alley stretched along the back of two stores, dumpsters and small piles of trash lining either side of the grubby brick walls. Listening again, Mirelle's frown deepened. The noise was definitely coming from that direction, but now that she was focused on it, the cry didn't seem to be a child at all. A flash of pale, pale gold caught her eye, striking and vivid against the dented dark green of the nearest dumpster, stalking silently along the garbage-strewn ground. Mirelle stole curiously closer, her own boots making hardly any noise against the dingy concrete, intent on the movement.

Her eyes widened as the creature finally slipped free of some crumpled newspaper and leapt on its target. It was a cat – well, more of a kitten, she realized after a moment. It hardly looked old enough to be out on its own. Certainly it didn't seem to be faring too well. Its apparently-beige fur was matted and covered in grime, one ear obviously torn and infected, its small body nothing more than skin and bones. Mirelle watched as the little beast lifted its paws carefully, revealing the prize beneath – a beetle of some kind, no more than a quarter-inch long, half-squashed already from the minimum weight of its executioner. A sharp pang of sympathy touched the blonde. The poor thing was eating bugs and garbage? But she could hear the soft whimpering noise clearer now, and she could tell the feline wasn't doing it. If the kitten wasn't making that sound, what was?

While Mirelle looked on, the dirt-covered ball of fuzz bent its head and snapped up the partly-crushed beetle. But instead of eating it, the small creature turned and raced back around the dumpster, treasure still held carefully in its jaws. Entranced, Mirelle found herself stealing after it, still quiet as only a trained assassin could be. On the other side of the metal container, she found a ragged, torn-apart packing box, stained with water, oil and other unmentionables. Turned on its side, there seemed to be a little 'nest' inside, ratty bits of cloth and claw-shredded papers pushed together in mostly-damp clumps.

And tucked in that mess? Mirelle felt her heart turn over. A second little kitten huddled weak and miserable in the largest crumpled pile, deep black fur just as dirty and trash-covered as its companion's, body even skinnier, if such a thing were possible. It was this tiny creature that was making the heartbreaking mewling cry, eyes closed and ears flat against its small head. The little beige kitten made a beeline for the box, dropping its offering just in front of its fellow sufferer's mouth and nuzzling gently at it. Now Mirelle understood. The first feline had been hunting bugs to feed the second.

_Protecting her partner._

The thought made her throat strangely tight – she understood that driving urge better than anyone. Drawn to the sodden, pathetic little creatures, the blonde Corsican stepped forward, a soft intake of breath betraying her presence. The reaction from the beige kitten was dramatic. Whipping around, it gave a furious yowl, back arched and claws dug in, hissing and spitting. It was a display that would actually have been frightening if the little thing hadn't been so torn up. Shocked, she realized the pale gold feline had deep, vivid blue eyes – the exact same shade as her own. One hand came up gently, comforting. "Shhhhh." She soothed. "It's alright. I'm not here to hurt you, I promise."

Digging in her bag, Mirelle's fingers danced over the various packages until she found the one she wanted. She wasn't sure whether or not they could eat chicken, but the pre-cooked slices for dinner salads were the only meat she had with her. The bag came open with a sharp tug, and the blonde gently held out a few pieces in the flat of her palm, crouching down to their level. "See? Here's a snack – I bet it's better for the two of you than a bug."

With an angry snarl, the beige cat stood its ground, tail whipping back and forth. For a moment, Mirelle thought it was growling, too; then, with a sharp pang, she realized it was the small creature's stomach rumbling at the smell of food. The young woman rolled her hand to let a bit of the chicken fall in front of the little beast. "Okay, you don't have to take it from me. Just eat."

The first kitten hesitated, ears still twisted back, and Mirelle understood. It thought she was trying to distract it with food. Then the smaller dark kitten whimpered, and the creature seemed to make up its mind. Inching forward, the beige feline snapped the meat up in its jaws, dragging its new prize swiftly back to its partner. The little creature gulped and practically inhaled the food. Mirelle smiled, dropping another piece and watching as the small beast ate that, too. She didn't know what she was going to do with the two of them. They were so beat up and hurt . . .

_I can't keep them – it would never work, I told Kirika that before – _

Wide eyes like warm amber met hers, a quiet mew sound touched her ears, and the rest of her jumbled objections vanished in a rush of awe and sweetness. The dark kitten had exactly the same color in its gaze that Kirika did. That rusty-red shade, like liquid mahogany, so soft and full of hope it tugged at her heart. Mirelle blinked, captivated. It even _sounded_ like Kirika's question noise.

"_Mon petite ange._" The whispered words were so soft she didn't even realize she'd said them. Mirelle's face sharpened with decision, and she nodded suddenly, swiftly. To hell with all of it. Her hand moved with the assassin's quickness, scooping up both tiny forms and cuddling them close to her chest. The pale gold kitten gave a struggling hiss of fury, slashing at her with small claws, but after a moment, the small creature calmed, as if it realized she meant them no harm. Standing, she shifted the little animals carefully to the inside of her coat. She had to get them to a vet, quickly.

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"Miss Bouquet?"

Glancing up, Mirelle nodded, fingertips still trailing gently over the pale gold head of the larger kitten. She had to be mindful of the poor thing's ear, but it seemed to grudgingly enjoy the petting. The smaller dark feline was curled in a ball under her palm, almost asleep, its little body rising and falling in soft rhythm. Around them, the scents of hospital and animal mixed, seeming to rise from the very walls of the examination room, but Mirelle didn't much care.

"I'm Dr. Lucas." The vet – a woman that looked to be in her early or mid thirties, with soft, reddish brown hair tied back in a bun, pale skin and blue-green eyes – smiled cheerfully and moved farther into the room, shutting the door with one hand while striding to the examining table. Mirelle had spread one of the nearby folded towels onto the steel surface so her little charges wouldn't be cold or uncomfortable, its bright colors especially vivid against their grimy mats of fur. Dr. Lucas gently lifted the beige kitten first, standing the feline up and running both hands over the small body. The little kitten meowed, sounding rather annoyed, but it put up with the touching after a gentle pet from Mirelle. "So you said you found these two pretty little girls out on the street?"

The blonde Corsican nodded again, slightly anxious. After getting out of the alley, Mirelle had hailed a cab and headed directly to the pet store and vet at one of their favorite boutique malls; she and Kirika had stopped there often to look at the pets on offer, and she knew the people there were good at their work. The cabbie hadn't liked the idea of animals in his cab, especially unwashed street animals, but double the fare with a generous tip had convinced him to make top speed. "They had a few little pieces of cooked chicken, but I don't know when they got to eat before that."

"Well, let's have a look." Lucas returned the pale gold kitten and used both hands to cradle the smaller feline, gently drawing the little creature closer. Her eyes were intent, focused on this examination, though the tiny beast didn't make a single noise of complaint. After a few minutes, the vet released the dark-furred kitten and sighed. "Just as I thought." She looked frankly up at Mirelle, voice blunt. "I don't think I've seen many worse cases. They're dehydrated, starved, covered in dirt and fleas and god knows what. The gold one has a bad infection in her ear and nose, and the little one here has what feels like a broken ribs. It looks like she might have been hit with a moped or a motorcycle." There was a pause. "I don't even know if they'll survive the night."

"They're fighters." Mirelle replied softly. The little black kitten pressed her fuzzy face into the Corsican's arm, nuzzling, and Mirelle smiled softly as the small gold curled up beside her companion with a low, growling sort of purr. Side by side, warm and safe and content with each other – it seemed almost like an omen. "Whatever they need, they'll get. Money doesn't matter. I just want them well."

To her surprise, Dr. Lucas smiled back, eyes knowing. "Somehow I thought you'd say that." She agreed, nodding. Pressing a button on the small intercom against the wall, she spoke briskly. "Lisa, please bring in one of the little fuzzy beds."

"Yes m'am." A female voice answered briefly, and a moment later, the door opened once more. This time, it was a young woman of about the Corsican's own age, her long, straight blonde hair tied back in a businesslike ponytail and arms full of clipboard and cushion. She was rather pretty, with pale skin, delicate features and large, intelligent gray eyes. Mirelle was surprised to see those eyes widen just slightly after a curious flick in her direction, lips parting in a flare of shock, but the expression vanished so quickly the blonde assassin thought she might have imagined it. The girl – Lisa – settled a small, open-topped bed for cats at one end of the table, its plain blue fabric outside a nice contrast to the comfortable-looking sheepskin lining. "Should I set up cages?" Again, the eyes moved swiftly from the vet to Mirelle and back.

"They should stay together." The words were out before Mirelle realized she was speaking, but Dr. Lucas' smile just widened. "Just one. And make sure the IVs and the worm tests are ready for me when I get back there, huh? We'll wash them up and give them some meds for tonight."

"Names?" Lisa raised an eyebrow, pencil poised and waiting in her left hand. Mirelle gently scooped up the fuzzy pair, holding them close for a moment and ignoring the rank smell from their fur. The little dark kitten meowed softly, licking her hand; the pale gold feline simply kept up her purr, tail flicking back and forth. "They – don't have names yet." She hesitated, thoughtful and slightly embarrassed. Naming the kittens was the intelligent thing to do, something she should have done earlier. She should have made _up_ names if she needed to. But it just didn't feel right. Naming them wasn't her privilege. "Kiri – someone else is going to name them, when they come home."

"Your little flatmate." Dr. Lucas made it a statement, eyes dancing. When Mirelle glanced at her, she laughed. "I've seen the way she looks at the kittens, dear. I'm fairly sure she'll adore these two." Turning back to her assistant, the vet added cheerfully, "Just put them under Bouquet one and two, Lisa, we'll know what it means."

The Corsican nodded, lightly setting her little charges in the soft, fuzzy warmth of the cat bed. Running her fingers over the small, matching heads, she was startled to realize she didn't want to leave them. So tiny and helpless – they seemed to push buttons in her she hadn't known were there._ Like Kirika,_ her mental voice pointed out, flashing the image of her partner's gentle, delicate face. "I'll be back." She whispered, the soft tone for their ears only. "I promise, Blue-Eyes." The little golden kitten stared back at her, seeming to understand, though the other feline whined softly. Mirelle's lips curved up. "You too, Shadow. I'll come back for you."

Straightening, she noticed the vet smiling. "Nicknames of Blue-Eyes and Shadow." She dictated to Lisa, who nodded appreciatively. "Don't worry, Miss Bouquet. They're in very good hands." Her face was bright. "And if you'll leave your cell phone number, I'll call that to keep you updated. That way it'll be a surprise, no?"

Slowly, Mirelle smiled too. "That would be wonderful." She watched as Lisa gently stroked the little heads, letting the small creatures sniff at her scent before carefully picking up the cat-bed. Both kittens evidently approved; the last thing Mirelle saw before the door closed was the two of them cuddled around each other, almost asleep. The Corsican took an offered pen from Dr. Lucas and scribbled a number in the marked box of the intake sheet. It was untraceable, but it would route to the cell phone she carried in her pocket, so there wasn't any worry there. "Thank you, Dr. Lucas. I have to run – do I just pay at the front desk?"

"Not a problem." The vet smiled. "And that's just fine. We'll be here when you get back."

Mirelle nodded. A few minutes later, she had paid for a week's stay for the two little kittens and was heading out the door. Home was only a few blocks away – she'd probably still get home before Kirika. The familiar vibrating jingle of her cell came faintly to her ears, and she frowned slightly, reaching for the palm-sized piece and glancing at the front screen. _Speak of the dark angel._ Flicking it open, she held the blue phone to her ear.

"Kirika, what's wrong?"

------------------------------------------------

_Meanwhile:_

Backpack swinging absently from her shoulder, Kirika pushed open the door to one of her favorite art stores, smiling slightly as she breathed in the scent of open paint and fresh pencil shavings. It wasn't a large shop – on the whole, it carried mostly basic supplies – but it was a great place to get the type of charcoal and pastels she liked to use. Mirelle had said she was checking with a few of their contacts. Warm softness flickered in her rust-red eyes. Kirika knew if her partner found a new boutique that caught her eye, the blonde Corsican could be gone for hours. If she hurried, Kirika should have time to get home and color a few of her 'special' sketches. There was one in particular she wanted to work on –

Heading directly for the crayon aisle, she stepped around a large stand of postcard-sized prints and stopped dead, eyes widening. A familiar figure stood casually in front of the pastel section, two different blue crayons held up in his hand as he compared their shades. Kirika was stunned. _Alexander! What's he doing here?_ Common sense intruded a moment later. _It's a public shop, and it has decent supplies. Any artist in the area would stop in if they needed something. I've probably seen him in here before, but I wasn't paying attention._

Still, she'd made a promise to Mirelle that she wouldn't spend time with him, and she meant to honor her word. Stepping silently backwards, the Japanese young woman shifted her pack higher and turned again. She'd go get the things she wanted at one of the other shops a few blocks over, and Alex would never have to know she was here.

At just that moment, Alexander lifted his head and spotted her. His own eyes widened, and a large grin split his face. "Kirika!" Setting down his supplies, he trotted over, laughing. "You're here – so how was last night? Was your friend surprised?"

_Damn._ The rare curse flicked through Kirika's mind for a split-second, although she couldn't help but smile at his cheerful attitude. "Yes. Thank you again for the ride."

"No problem – it was my fault anyway." He grinned, motioning toward her bag. "You here for something in particular?"

"Oh – no. Just some looking." The lie came easily to the young woman's lips, face calm and voice just a tad cooler than usual. If he was busy here, she could probably make a quick exit. That was graceful, wasn't it?

Unfortunately, she had no such luck. "Great! You can come tell me all about it." With happy abandon, Alex tugged lightly at her arm. "There's a cute little fountain square over at the end of the block. The benches are great for people-watching."

Mirelle would have made a no-doubt funny remark about how "people-watching" seemed to be an unhealthy habit of his. Of course, Mirelle wouldn't have gotten caught in something like this in the first place. This was not quite going the way she'd hoped. But it was nice to see him again – and it wasn't entirely her fault. She had to talk with him now, didn't she? She couldn't risk blowing her cover by just suddenly brushing him off. Besides, this would be the best way to let him down gently.

That decided, she followed her 'friend' back down the sidewalk, where a park-like square in the center of the block had been set up as some kind of urban park. A large rectangular fountain sat in the center, cement fish spouting water upward into the cool evening air, while around it, green-painted wooden benches and carefully trimmed foliage were laid out for passerby to stop and take a few minutes. Alexander flopped onto the nearest bench, his lanky frame sprawling along one side as he grinned up at her. His voice was almost infectiously cheerful. "So how did it go? I bet the food was spectacular."

Kirika nodded with just a trace of her usual shyness, settling herself on the other end. Her backpack thudded softly on the wood between them, a subtle enforcer of personal space. "The veal turned out just right. And you were right about the vanilla ice cream with the Dutch apple pie."

"It was always Lisa's favorite combination." Obviously pleased that he'd helped, Alex leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, raising an eyebrow. His eyes shone with happily wicked humor. "So what did _she_ bring _you_?"

What did he mean, saying it like that? Kirika blinked, a strange ripple of unease starting in the pit of her stomach. Still, she answered honestly. "A suncatcher, a plush toy and a novel." She paused. "Oh, and a small pillow."

Now it was Alexander's turn to blink. He stared at her a few seconds, obviously confused, then burst into outright laughter. "Kirika, you're so innocent." He kept chuckling, shaking his head. "I should know better than to tease you."

Kirika's eyes widened, stunned. _Innocent_? Alex thought _she_ was innocent? She'd been called quite a few things in her short life, but 'innocent' had never been high on the list. Actually, she wasn't even sure it was _on_ the list before today. "What?"

Her friend smiled and reached across the backpack to pat her hand, still snickering quietly under his breath. "I was – making a rather lewd joke." He paused in concern, eyebrows drawing slightly together as he looked at her with a question on his face. "She does know that you like her, doesn't she?"

If Kirika had been stunned before, she was absolutely shocked now. Lips parted slightly, the Japanese young woman gaped, staring at Alex and trying to ignore the way her pulse had picked up. "Alex." Her voice was a mix of exasperation and an odd note of strain. "I can't _like_ Mirelle."

"Why not?" Alexander frowned slightly, puzzled.

"Because – " Kirika's brain stalled, reaching desperately for the first excuse that came to mind. "She's a _girl_."

"So?" Alex's tone clearly said he wasn't buying it. "So you're a girl, and she's a girl. Who cares? It happens." He shrugged, fixing her with an intent look. "Come on, anybody that listens to you talk about her would know you care about her. After the whole dinner thing, and the apartment – well, I just thought you were both close."

"We _are_ close." Her reaction was instinctive and defensive, though she couldn't stop the sudden feeling of tightness in her throat. Or the flash of anxiety that raced in her veins. Of course they were close. Mirelle was her partner, the only family she had, the only person who had ever cared for her as something more than a weapon. "Just not that way."

Alexander's eyes were shrewd, cunning, though his smile was kind enough to take the sting out of his words. "Oh really." Reaching for her backpack, he unzipped it and flicked through the sketchbooks, pulling out one with a familiar, lead-smudged cover. Kirika's heart stopped. "I saw this yesterday." He said quietly, setting the spiral-bound pad ever-so-gently on his knees. "They're all very pretty – you really do her justice."

Kirika wasn't sure whether to thank him or snatch her precious sketchbook back and run. Her hands were shaking now, a fine, frightened trembling. Wherever he was going with this, she really didn't think she wanted to know. Gently, Alex squeezed her arm. "You're not just close, Kirika."

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

It was like Kirika had been struck with a bolt of lightning. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. _Love_. The fluttering in her stomach, the aching in her muscles, the tightness in her chest and the dizzying rush that captured her mind . . . it all fit. That was the word that she had tried so hard to find when she wrote her letter to Mirelle. _Love_ was the single word that perfectly captured her feelings for the golden-hued, sapphire-eyed Corsican. Four simple letters . . . and the one word that could never, ever work between them. Her mind spun, a chaotic storm of fragmented thoughts and raw, jagged emotion. She didn't want to believe it. "No."

Alexander watched her and nodded slowly, face filled with understanding and an odd sort of pity. "So she doesn't know." His voice was quiet, soft. "I wondered."

Kirika shook her head slowly, almost unnoticeably, hair swinging slightly from side to side. The way Alex said it, there was almost no way to deny the horrible rightness of his words. But if he was right, then – all these feelings did have a name. She didn't just care about Mirelle. She was in love with Mirelle. Had _been_ in love with Mirelle for a long time. It was a revelation that sent her reeling and left a black hole in her chest where her heart should be. "She – she doesn't know." She whispered miserably. "It wouldn't work."

"Why not?" Alex demanded. He sounded almost belligerent, outraged for her. "You're sweet, you're smart and cute, and you obviously love her. Oh, God, she's not one of those cold people that doesn't like anyone, is she?"

When Kirika just blinked at him, rather hollowly, the young man sighed and explained. "My brother had a girlfriend like that once. She was scary as hell. Gorgeous, just like your Mirelle – knew how to dress, how to act, how to wrap everyone around her little finger. But it was all on the outside. Inside, she was scary. Hardly ever really smiled, cold as ice, didn't seem to care about anybody or anything. Everyone besides her was expendable, you know? The kind of person that could kill somebody and not blink."

Well, that last bit was certainly true. Mirelle had killed (and could, and would, continue to kill) without any remorse, regret or pity. And she did know how to dress well, how to act in society. Manipulating people, well, she had Kirika herself, didn't she? And she'd had Andre and Paula and the rest of her contacts for years, before they had ever been together. But Kirika _knew_ there was more to the blonde Corsican. Intelligence, skill, warmth and care – she had seen all those in her partner over the year they'd been together, and especially since they'd returned from the Manor. And she knew there could be more. She'd seen that flash of heat in those sapphire eyes today, she was sure of it.

Opening her mouth to answer, Kirika never got the chance. A shadow flicked swiftly across the pavement on one side, the sound of a footfall mingling with a peripheral awareness that set her internal alarms to screaming. Leg muscles, tensed, coiled, and she sprang forward, rolling free of the bench. Her attacker's thick, suit-clad arm fairly whistled past the space where her neck had been, curling around empty air instead. In one swift movement, lean fingers had closed on a large hunk of broken brick from the ground and flung it with deadly accuracy. The missile flew directly on target, slamming into the man's forehead with a distinct _thunk_. He toppled over, slumping across the wooden back of her former seat, as Kirika finished her move and came up on her feet again.

There were at least eight more of them fanning out in a crude semi-circle now, dressed in dark blue suits and button-down white shirts, each with the unmistakable bulges of weapons in their waistbands. Strong and powerfully built, they looked like someone's hired muscle. All around, the street had mysteriously emptied out, small park deserted in the gathering dusk, the air close and ominously charged. Questions flicked rapid-fire through Kirika's mind as the young woman shifted to a fighting stance. This was obviously an ambush – who had planned it? Apparent she had been compromised somehow – or did someone just suspect she knew something, and was taking care of it? Was this connected to Garrison, and Andre's warning earlier?

Not that any of it made a difference, as the man nearest her gave a lunge and trained instinct took over. Ducking around his beefy fist, she slammed the heel of her palm upward against his nose. The sound of it spearing up into his brain made a sickening _crunch_, but Kirika was already past him, unholstering the Beretta from the small of her back and firing one shot, then a second before the rest of the goons could even react. A fourth thug, slightly more intelligent than the rest, whipped a heavy foot at her midsection before jabbing in some kind of combination move. Kirika vaulted backwards, landing briefly on one hand, back arched as she aimed and took out his knee upside-down. He collapsed to the pavement howling with agony, and the partner that had been beside him leapt for her. Swaying smoothly to the side, Kirika's own hand shot out, pulling her attacker's arm and using his own momentum to send him stumbling. A sharp twist of his head as he passed, and his body tumbled to the ground.

Firing a last shot to silence the knee-capped goon, Kirika paused, vaguely surprised for a heartbeat as there was no new assault. She was sure she'd counted nine attackers, including the first fool she'd taken out. With six of them dead, that would mean three were left –

Then a familiar hand closed around her wrist, and she whirled to find herself face to face with Alexander.

"Kirika." The young man released her as soon as she turned, holding his free hand up to stall the attack he seemed sure was coming. He didn't seem frightened or shocked by the gun in her hand, or her apparent prowess at taking out the thugs lying dead at her feet. Instead, the eyes that met hers were calm, competent and sharp, without a trace of pity or hesitation. "Kirika, we have to move. They didn't get you, did they?"

Too surprised with his lack of reaction to answer right away, Kirika blinked once as Alex snapped up her special sketchbook, tucking it swiftly back into her backpack and tossing the bundle in her direction. She caught it, stowing her weapon away automatically before hefting the pack over her shoulder, eyes flicking to the bodies that lay scattered around them. A quick tally showed there were ten thugs; if she had only killed six, that left four of the deaths unaccounted for. Alexander grabbed his jacket, then hopped easily over the bench and took her wrist, pulling her away without stopping to look back. The two of them hurried down the street together, almost flying, steps nearly silent.

About ten minutes later, both skidded to a stop at the loading docks behind another set of boutiques. Alex leaned against the smooth brick wall, hands on knees and hair falling in his eyes as he not-quite-panted. "Damn." He muttered. Brushing the thick dark bangs from his forehead, he looked up at her in awe. "Kirika, that was incredible. You were amazing."

He wasn't frightened? Kirika didn't know quite what to do. He'd seen her kill – by unwritten assassin law, she should have put a bullet in his brain before ever leaving the scene. But the image of those muscled bodies intruded, and once again the count didn't add up. Mahogany eyes met his, distant but intense. "You killed those four men."

"Yes. Missed the one you kneecapped." Alexander agreed with a shrug, obviously not broken up about the circumstances. His gaze was frank, interested and rather impressed, voice still slightly breathless. "You – You're Soldats, aren't you?"

Kirika gaped, stunned. She couldn't seem to do anything other than stare. The inane thought that Mirelle would certainly kill her crossed her mind. She wanted to interrupt, to protest or deny it, but there were so many things humming through her brain she could hardly manage more than a single breathy word. "You?"

Alex nodded, going on with an explanation as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "Family is – mostly Dad and my Uncles on both sides. I'm just a messenger boy." His grin was rueful, and a bit embarrassed. "I thought you were, you know – your shots were beautiful, no wasted motions or wild rounds. They didn't even get a finger on you."

_He – he doesn't recognize me? He doesn't know who I am?_ Kirika's thoughts raced. It seemed absolutely stupid that anyone connected with Soldats wouldn't recognize one of the two Noir. And yet – what was it Altena had said, back at the Manor? _"Those that attacked you knew nothing, because the trials had to be true life-or-death struggles." If his family isn't highly connected, part of the High Council, he might not ever have even _heard_ of Noir._ Her heart leapt. If he thought she was just another member of Soldats – slowly, she nodded, just once.

"Ha, I was right!" Alexander's face lit with slow glee. Lounging back against the wall, he folded his arms, almost laughing. "Well, that explains part of the problem with your friend Mirelle. She's your partner, isn't she? With work, I mean."

Kirika nodded again, still not quite able to speak. This was – like talking to Mirelle after a hit. They had finished the job, and now they could go back to their conversation and their everyday lives. Alex shook his head, rolling his eyes with an almost exasperated sigh. "Ouch. That's gotta complicate things a little." He flashed a toothy smirk. "Though if she's as athletic as you are, that might open up a few _interesting_ possibilities."

Now that she understood the foolish joke, Kirika found herself blushing, cheeks flaming a dark pink. Alexander laughed, patting her shoulder. "Sorry, Kirika, I couldn't resist." He grinned a bit sheepishly. "I think it's a stupid guy thing. But seriously, I do get it. Figuring out a relationship like that has to be really tough."

Kirika tilted her head, watching him, still not entirely sure this whole thing was actually happening. "I wonder who they were after." Her voice was soft. Alex sighed at the change of subject and looked thoughtful, running his fingers through his hair. "Not sure." He commented after a minute. "Don't think the family's made any ripples recently – Uncle Jean-Luke is into a bit of smuggling, but it's just small stuff. We're not high enough up to be much more than foot-soldiers most of the time. Did you guys do something big recently?"

"Uh-uh." Kirika shook her head. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Mirelle's intruded in her head. _Does he really expect an honest answer to that question?_ The glance she flicked at his face suggested that he actually might. Then again, she couldn't think of any lie she'd actually told him since they'd met – with the exception of the whole "just looking" thing earlier. And it was a valid question. Alexander shrugged, snickering. "Don't suppose it matters. Whoever they were, they won't be coming back in a hurry."

She couldn't help a small laugh of her own. "Probably not."

With a cheerful grin, Alex leaned his head back to look at the sky, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the dark wash of blue-black across horizon. "Wow, it's later than I thought. Mother's going to have kittens if I don't head home." His eyes danced wryly. "Besides, you'll have to call Mirelle, and I _reeeeeeally_ doubt she'll want to have me anywhere around."

Kirika ducked her head, almost embarrassed. Shifting her bag where it dug into her shoulder, she eyed her friend from beneath a heavy fringe of bangs. "Probably not. It's not safe."

"She's a smart woman." Alexander touched her shoulder gently until she met his gaze. "And if she's anything like you, she's probably very protective of the things she cares about." Ignoring Kirika's flush, he shrugged into his jacket. "Be careful, Kirika. See you later."

"Goodbye, Alex." She watched his lean frame as he trotted casually to the end of the buildings and vanished around the corner. Letting him go went against the basic rules of her trade, her very life – and yet, she couldn't find it in her heart to even reach for her weapon. Sighing, she turned in the opposite direction, heading for the nearest side street with his comment about Mirelle still ringing in her ears. One hand dug into the pocket of her jacket and tugged out her cell phone, flipping it on and punching a familiar set of numbers as she walked. _This_ wasn't going to go over well. "Mirelle?"

"I need you to pick me up . . . "

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_Yeah, if anyone thinks _this_ will be a happy phone call, raise your hand. (rolls eyes)_

_Next chapter - things begin to heat up on both sides of the Mirelle / Kirika situation. Alexander has a plan to bring the two of them together, but neither will make it easy. Who really hired those goons, and who were they after? And what's little miss Lisa doing hanging out with Breffort? Find out next time!_


	7. Dreams of Nightmares

_Jeez, this one took longer than I meant it to. (laughs) Again, blame Mirelle - her reaction to her dream was horribly hard to write for some reason, since her complete "what the hell?"attitude kind of overshadowed everything else. How do you rationalize something like that, anyway? (snicker)_

_For those wondering, this particular chapter is part of what earned this story the rating it got from me. I'd rather be safe and over-warn than sorry and uploading all over again. If you can't figure out the why - well, yeaaah. xD_

_Oh, and NO ONE SHOULD LIKE ALEXANDER! HE IS AN ASSHOLE! (cough) Ahem, that is all._

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* * *

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**Dreams of Nightmares**

Early the next morning, Kirika made her way to the small riverbank boutique mall where she'd met with Alexander, looking intently for that familiar lanky frame and head of nut-brown hair. Sunlight bathed everything in a golden glow, sparkling off the water while birds swooped and darted through the treetops; even a few small squirrels and chipmunks appeared in the warm green grass, little noses and fluffy tails twitching as they hunted for nuts along the dirt. It would be a perfect day for sketching, but right now, the young woman had more personal business at hand.

"Kirika!"

Her intuition had been right, then. Kirika turned, her trademark smile curving up the corners of her lips. As though her thoughts had summoned him to this spot, Alexander jogged up, grinning from ear to ear. "I didn't know if I'd see you again." He seemed rather gleeful, giving her a quick, one-armed hug around the shoulders before pulling back to look her up and down. "Well, you look like you're happy, so I'm guessing you and Mirelle didn't have some big knock-down, drag-out fight over yesterday. Was she really mad?"

Kirika nodded slightly, her eyes dancing just a bit. _Mad_ or even _really mad_ was a bit of an understatement. Mirelle had been absolutely livid when the taxi she'd picked up had finally reached the street corner. Oh, not at Kirika, although the young woman had feared that. Her rage had been directed entirely at the goons and whoever had hired them. She'd been snarling, barely keeping her voice down, alternating between firing questions at Kirika to make sure she was alright and cursing furiously in a combination of English, Japanese, Italian, German, Russian, Spanish and what had to be Corsican. Kirika suspected her partner was trying hard to keep the poor, confused cabbie from understanding, or she might have added French to the mix. Not that it really helped – by the time the man had pulled up in front of their apartment ten minutes later, Kirika was certain he was more than happy to get rid of them.

Upstairs in the safety of their flat, Mirelle had insisted on examining the Japanese assassin's body carefully, assuring herself that the younger woman was safe and untouched before ordering her into a hot shower. _Mirelle_ would be making dinner for the two of them. Kirika wasn't to touch anything. The blonde Corsican had been so intense about it, Kirika hadn't dared refuse; though in truth, she had enough things on her mind that she could use the time to think. Alex, the thugs and the attack –

- Mirelle – her feelings for Mirelle, and Mirelle's possible feelings for her –

Dinner had been a light affair, some warm soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. They'd eaten quietly, absorbed in their own thoughts, though Kirika noticed Mirelle stealing glances at her every so often. Those beautiful sapphire eyes had been so dark, roiling like thunderclouds, with too many murky emotions to name. Still, she'd hugged Kirika tightly before climbing into bed, and there was no mistaking the warm gentleness in that gesture. "I'm glad you're okay." She'd whispered, voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

Kirika had lain still in the dark for several minutes afterwards, caught between the comforting safety of her partner's warmth and the racing of her mind. She had felt Mirelle watching her, an intent gaze on the back of her head that made the Japanese young woman long to turn and see the expression on that beautiful face. Actually, she _wanted_ to shift back until she was pressed against the lean, muscled frame behind her, cuddled in those strong, caring arms. Then again, she'd had that urge for quite a while. Maybe not as strong as it was now that she understood her feelings . . . but either way, it was just a faint dream. It would never happen, right?

Something hovered over her bare shoulder, a warmth only a hair above the skin that still sent her senses into overdrive. It stayed there for a long, frozen moment, utterly still – then, ever so hesitant, the soft fingers touched lightly to flesh. Mirelle stroked her partner's shoulder once, twice, letting her hand rest there for another long moment before slowly withdrawing it. A quiet murmur floated from her side of the bed, for once without a trace of sauciness. "Goodnight, Kirika."

Back in the present, Kirika smiled. She'd fallen asleep fairly quickly after that, lulled by the happiness welling up inside her as much as the blonde's familiar, even breathing. It had been incredibly, innocently sweet –

– although her dreams afterward had been decidedly _not_ –

Alexander waved a hand in front of her face, laughing. "Earth to Kirika. Come in, Kirika!" He grinned at her, eyes dancing. "Sheee-it, was it that good? You didn't – " a pause, and the young woman could have sworn her friend was embarrassed. "Did you?"

Kirika's eyes widened, and she shook her head vigorously, cheeks flaming. No, they hadn't – at least, not in reality. Her dreams, though, had been an entirely different story. Apparently, her subconscious had decided that realizing her feelings meant it was safe to indulge in a fantasy or two. Of the kind she'd never even _imagined_ she could think of.

_Smoldering lips pressed against hers in a burning kiss, one arm wrapped around her waist while elegant fingers tangled in her thick hair. The Corsican's lean frame pushed close, molding their bodies together, drawing a breathy whimper from Kirika's throat and turning her knees to jelly. The younger woman's eyes slid shut as electric pleasure hummed beneath her skin. "Mireyu – "_

"_Kirika." Mirelle's voice was rich and dark, heavy with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. Her velvet mouth trailed slowly over Kirika's golden-tan chin, slipping along the jawbone and down that slender, delicate neck with small, nibbling kisses. Kirika gasped, head falling back as her fingers dug into her partner's hips. Some distant part of her mind wondered if Mirelle knew that she'd taken to saying Kirika's name with a faint Japanese accent. The rest of her was absorbed in the intoxicating rush of the Corsican's fingertips trailing smoothly over her skin. She was trembling, melting – _

The images flashed back only briefly, but they were enough to turn her blush from deep pink to a whole new shade of dark red. Kirika shook herself mentally. It was her dreams that had clinched it for her, sending her from their warm bed while Mirelle slept in so she could seek Alexander's help. "No, I didn't tell her. I – I wanted to ask for your help."

Alex's eyebrows rose, and he looked a bit surprised. "My help? With wha – " His voice trailed off, puzzled for a moment before his whole face lit with delight. "You want to woo her, don't you?"

Kirika nodded, a bit shakily, but resolute. "That's what it is, I think." She hitched her bag a little higher on her shoulder, gathering her courage in both hands. "I want to know – if she likes me that way. And I _want_ her to like me." Her expression was hesitant. "Is that bad?"

"No way! It's perfect." Alexander hugged her again, and Kirika was so relieved she didn't even mind. He was grinning from ear to ear now, confident and pleased. "I'm betting she likes you anyway. She's probably given you tons of clues."

The Japanese young woman thought back for a few seconds, intent. Mirelle had given her clues to her feelings? Somehow, it wasn't easy to bring any incident to mind. No doubt Alex would know if something was a clue or not, but she didn't have enough experience to really tell. She knew Mirelle cared about her, had been worried about her last night . . . but she had a feeling he meant something a little more. So what –

"She gave me chocolates." Kirika blurted with the startled, gleeful air of a young child discovering a hidden Easter egg. "Last night, I guess she got them while she was out shopping. She got my favorite kind."

"Perfect." Alexander said again, nodding. "They're small gifts, but that's the point. If you didn't want them, or if you didn't like her feelings, it wouldn't be a big deal. She could convince herself it was casual."

"Like the gifts from when she left?" Hope rose in Kirika's chest, light as a helium balloon. Alex looked proud of her. "Yes. Small things that she _knows_ you'll like, but it doesn't matter if you don't, because she can call it just a gift between partners. Then it doesn't matter."

"And – and she hugged me last night." Now a jolt of heat spread through her body. Her eyes glowed. "She was scared."

"I believe it." Alexander laughed, tugging her down the sidewalk. "Come on, we'll go grab some breakfast at this cute little café I know. We've got to stay out past lunchtime, anyway."

Kirika blinked, puzzled, though she followed obediently. "What? Why? Mirelle will worry if I'm not home soon." That was an understatement. After last night, the blonde Corsican would be going out of her mind when she woke up and found her partner gone. Kirika's note hadn't been exactly helpful, either.

"That's the point." Alex's grin would have looked perfect on the Cheshire Cat. "You want her worried. It works perfectly with the plan."

"What plan?" Kirika wondered what he was going on about. Alexander's eyes danced.

"The oldest trick in the book, Kirika. Jealousy."

* * *

"So wait a minute. I want to make Mirelle jealous?"

Sitting at Alex's chosen café about an hour later, Kirika sipped idly at the diet soda she'd ordered, listening patiently for her friend to explain his 'amazing' plan. Alexander sat across from her, a wicked smirk on his face as he swigged a gulp from his own paper cup.

"Exactly." He nodded, elbows propped on the table and leaning forward gleefully. "See, I bet part of the problem is she's scared to admit she likes you. It's hard to do anyway, but when you're working partners, it's gotta be ten times tougher, right?"

Kirika nodded, and Alex grinned, continuing. "But it's natural to get jealous of people when they have something you don't. _Especially_ in a relationship, when it's a person you love that maybe belongs to someone else, or has feelings for someone else. Have you ever had any friends Mirelle was jealous of?"

Rubbing at her nose shyly, Kirika thought for a moment. Milosh immediately came to mind; Mirelle had been more sarcastic than usual with her orders to break off contact with the tortured artist, especially the second time around. Almost cruel, and she knew Mirelle was never cruel without a reason. But she'd seemed regretful and almost guilty when he died. That image melted into another, of Mirelle's face lit with bloody light from the setting sun, the expression in her eyessharp but somehow soft at the same time. Her throat tightened slightly. Chloe had been horribly jealous of Mirelle, she knew that much. But had Mirelle actually been jealous of the childlike redhead as well? Something in her gut said yes.

"Two people." She agreed finally. "Two friends, close ones. Mirelle – I think she was jealous of them both."

Alexander's eyes danced. "See, I thought so. She obviously likes you, but she's afraid to admit her feelings. With you as her partner and her family, I can sort of see why."

Slowly, Kirika nodded, taking another drink of her soda before playing idly with the straw. This made sense.

"But we also know she's really jealous of anybody that has your attention." Alex kept up his explanation, sipping at his own cup. "So the question is, how do you get her to admit to her feelings if she's so guarded about it? Easy!"

He waved a hand like a magician revealing his latest incredible feat. "You make her jealous enough to lose control. If she sees you with someone new, she's bound to get jealous again, even more now because of last night. If she sees you _romantically_ with someone new, it'll be twice as bad. So I'll drop you off back at your apartment," his eyes danced, "and we'll do a little fake kiss. Nothing steamy or gross," he added hastily, "but enough to make sure she sees. She'll throw a fit. Then all you have to do is casually press her about why she's acting so weird." His fingers snapped. "Presto! She blurts out something about her feelings for you, you assure her that you feel the same way, and it all works itself out. It can't fail."

Silent for a moment, Kirika found the corners of her lips curling up, eyes beginning to gleam. This sounded like it would actually work, especially with Mirelle's sharp, headstrong temper. "Isn't it bad luck to say that before an operation?" She asked softly. Alexander stared for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. "Ahhh, you're right! I don't want to jinx this."

Reaching out, he caught her hand across the table, squeezing it gently. "But it _will_ work, Kirika. We're gonna make it work."

Kirika nodded, her own fingers returning the squeeze. "So – what should we do until then?"

Alex grinned mischievously. "Well, there's this great new art store that just opened up down the block – "

* * *

_Sultry, silken lips pressed against hers, moving in a searing haze of bliss and pleasure. Mirelle groaned low and deep in her throat, the dark-honey sound captured like nectar by Kirika's sweet mouth. The younger woman gave an answering growl, deepening the kiss with a thrust of her tongue, and the heat of it made Mirelle's insides shiver. It felt so good – _

_They broke when their lungs finally forced them apart, both gasping for breath. Propped up on the flat of one forearm, the blonde Corsican gazed down at her partner with heavy-lidded eyes, brushing Kirika's bangs back with soft, caressing fingertips. A smile touched her kiss-swollen lips, hot and shadowed in promise. "Kirika."_

"_Mirelle." Kirika's voice was a soft moan, her slender body shuddering beneath Mirelle's as those fingertips trailed down her golden cheek. Her thick hair fanned out across the pillows, a dark glory against the pale cotton, but Mirelle was more interested in the delicate flush rising along her lithe, toned frame, the gentle heaving swell of her breasts beneath that thin tank-top she always wore to bed. Leaning forward once more, the Corsican claimed her partner's mouth with a deep kiss before letting her lips slide oh-so-lightly down Kirika's elegant neck. Her teeth scraped at the tanned skin, testing and teasing, a jolt of liquid fire shooting through her nerves as she heard a breathy whine starting in the back of Kirika's throat. She loved that sound, so full of heat and whispered want. She especially loved hearing Kirika make that kind of sound, _causing_ her to make that kind of sound._

_Lean, muscled legs – bare save a light sheen of sweat – slid against the blonde's, the hot contact of skin on skin making Mirelle suck in an aching gasp, mouth still pressed just below her partner's collarbone. The Corsican shifted slightly, moving her thigh until it pressed hard against the juncture between Kirika's own. Fierce satisfaction slammed through Mirelle as she realized the younger woman's light cotton shorts were already faintly damp. Kirika moaned, hips jerking up instinctively in response to the pressure. "Mireyu – Mireyu, oh – "_

"_Mmmm." Her tone was rough, a possessive wildness coloring the words with crimson heat. Mirelle slid the thin straps of Kirika's tank-top down her slender shoulders, baring Kirika's upper chest to the blonde's hungry gaze. The younger woman whimpered, shuddering deliciously at the doubled contact, and Mirelle could feel her partner's pulse racing beneath her lips. Smirking just slightly, Mirelle let her mouth travel lower, tongue making soft, swirling caresses along one perfect breast. She was rewarded with a shaky sound of pure, molten desire, nipple rising taut and hard to her touch, Kirika's nails digging into the mattress as the Japanese arched herself against the pale porcelain body above her. Her own breathing shallow, the blonde slipped her fingers beneath the hem of the shirt, trailing them lightly along Kirika's smooth, flat stomach. Bumping over the elastic waistband, her fingertips darted farther down, rubbed and pressed almost tauntingly. She loved this, too. The building tension, all the heated teasing – knowing with every small noise and trembling jerk that she could give her adored partner such obvious pleasure, that Kirika wanted her so very much. Drawing the warm peak into her mouth, Mirelle suckled at it slowly, savoring the sharp passionate gasp from above her as much as the hot, lightly sweat-salted taste. This was how it should be – _

_Hands tugged hard at her simple nightshirt, one impatiently unfastening buttons while the other dragged her back up for another blazing kiss. The world spun briefly, a rioting kaleidoscope of motion and feel, and the blonde found herself suddenly on her back, looking up into Kirika's eyes made dark and burning with desire. The younger woman ground her hips into Mirelle's, husky voice panting and almost laughing at the same time. "You – are – a tease, Mireyu."_

_Now it was Mirelle's turn to moan, Kirika's fingers abandoning the fastenings for a moment to dance across her partner's ribs. The blonde's nerves sizzled as those same fingers stroked higher, thumbs rolling her nipples until she cried out, breathless and pleading. "Ki-Kirika –" Her throat caught so tightly she could hardly do more than gasp. "Kirika – oh Kirika please."_

_Kirika made a low, dark version of her usual agreeing noise, returning to the last of the buttons. Her own tanktop had vanished, though Mirelle wasn't quite sure where; she only knew the lean frame pressed against her was bare from the waist up, a toned expanse of heated skin and strong muscle. Mirelle choked on another heady moan as her partner's teeth sunk suddenly into her neck, hard enough to leave a jolt of aching pleasure behind. The blonde knew instinctively what it was. A mark, a claim, a visible sign of all the fierce passion burning between them. To be claimed by Kirika – the intoxicating thought sent the Corsican's already-dizzy mind reeling. The heat between her thighs was a throbbing blaze now, her flesh buzzing in waves, begging for more of that familiar touch until she thought she might go mad. Her hand tangled blindly in Kirika's thick hair, urging the smaller woman on without words. Kirika's mouth slipped obligingly lower, almost smiling, velvet smoothness even better against sensitized skin. Nuzzling softly, her fingers tracing light circles across the blonde's inner thigh, while the other hand began the slow, sensuous pulling of her pale white panties – Mirelle moaned, her entire body tightening in reaction, arching, aching, pleading – _

– and a car horn blared outside, loud enough to wake the dead.

Or at least, a dreaming assassin. Mirelle jerked bolt-upright, heart racing, completely disoriented for a moment as her sleeping reality was rent in half. Then the world slammed back into focus, and she gave a shocked gasp, leaping from the bed and running for the bathroom like it was on fire. Twisting the shower knob almost frantically, she nearly threw herself into the icy spray, letting it fall in needles across her naked body.

What in the hell had that been? Staring into the thundering droplets with unseeing eyes, Mirelle brushed away her already-plastered bangs with a shaking hand. To her growing horror, she realized it wasn't just her hands; her legs, her whole body was trembling and flushed, muscles deep in the pit of her stomach clenched in a tight ache. It wasn't normal, and for a few seconds she found herself lost.

_You're **aroused**._ That sarcastic voice she was truly beginning to hate skittered through her thoughts, smirkingly amused. _It's called a wet dream, genius. You dreamed about Kirika, and it made you hot. But you knew that already – you just don't _like_ it._

Mirelle took a sharp breath, stunned and wanting to argue – then, teeth clenched, she let it out slowly, forcing calm with the instincts born of a lifetime of deadly training. Actually, if she wanted to be honest with herself, the voice was right. She wasn't anywhere near stupid in that particular area of life, in spite of her unorthodox upbringing and possibly-terminal virginity; Uncle Claude had treated sex and its related subjects with the same careful attention to detail that he showed every other part of her life. Biologically speaking, it had been a simple, natural reaction, and it shouldn't have bothered her a bit.

Intellectually, though, it was a whole different matter. Never mind that Kirika was female, and Mirelle had never had even the slightest feelings for anyone of the same gender before. Aside from a few small, tame flings with young men when she'd been a few years younger, she hadn't really had an attraction to anyone. It was too dangerous, for her and for whoever caught her eye. No, what had really shaken her was the sense of . . . connection, in the dream. The sense of complete attraction that had been more than simple desire or even lust, an utter belonging that went deeper than any words could ever describe. She hadn't just wanted Kirika. She had _known_ Kirika, known the way they would both respond, understood it and welcomed it to the very marrow of her bones. And it hadn't faded much, either. Even now, standing awake under the newly-steaming shower, she could remember every gentle stroke, every fierce brush of lips, everything that made her blood pulse and heart soar –

Her throat tightened, a mix of terror and remembered anticipation mingling in her chest. It frightened her beyond imagining that she could desire something so wild, that she could _want_ to lose control so badly. She had spent her whole life – her whole assassin's life, anyway – striving to keep perfect discipline. Herself, her hits, it didn't matter. Control was the heart of someone in her position. You never gave it up to anyone, no matter what. Hell, she and Kirika had spent the better part of a year fighting to _regain_ control of their lives from Soldats. How could she ever want to throw all that away, even dreaming?

Mirelle slammed her hand into the shower wall with a sudden surge of fury. She wasn't quite sure who she was mad at – herself, the dream, Kirika, some combination of all three – but she knew she was angrier than she should be. _Temper, temper._ Her inner voice smirked. _It's not the poor tiles' fault you dreamed about coping off your pretty little partner. But maybe it's easier to get angry at something than think about your feelings. If you're punching holes in the bathroom, you don't have to admit why you're really afraid._

The Corsican snarled soundlessly, throwing her soaked hair behind one shoulder. _I'm not afraid of anything._ She informed her subconscious tartly. _Why would I be afraid of some stupid dream that didn't mean anything anyway? It's just like dreaming about talking snails or dogs that do laundry. A random firing of brain neurons that puts together odd pictures based on things seen or thought of during the day._

_Of course. _The voice agreed, mock-serious. _Just a _random_ wet dream. And the fact that you always go into clinical speak when you're flustered means nothing, either._

Mirelle ground her teeth in frustration. _It was a _biological reaction_, nothing more. I haven't had a fling with anyone in over a year – it was obviously just a reaction to the stress of the last few days. Like the altitude and time-changes. I just need to get my head clear, and I'll be fine._

The idea was believable enough to put aside her worries, and Mirelle leaned back slightly into the warm spray, hoping the heat would help relax her tense muscles as she washed up. After the attack last night, it was natural that she'd dream about Kirika, she told herself firmly. The other girl was an important part of her life, if not _the_ most important; Kirika in danger had sent her protective instincts into overdrive, and it made sense that it would have continued in her sleep. She was just glad that her little partner hadn't noticed her jumping out of bed like a ninny. That would have been more than a little embarrassing, to say the least.

Speaking of which, where was Kirika? With a frown, Mirelle twisted the shower knob off and pushed back the curtain, eyes darkening ominously. She'd known the moment she woke up that the young woman wasn't curled up beside her, but in the back of her mind, she'd assumed her partner was simply in the kitchen making tea or sketching in the main area of their flat. Now, though, she knew from the silence in the apartment that she was the only one home. Grabbing for a towel, she wrapped it swiftly around herself, tucking the free end roughly under the top as she strode from the bathroom. Logically, the blonde knew Kirika had probably just left to get some groceries from the store or on a quick errand; there was no way anyone could possibly have snuck in and taken _just_ Kirika without the two of them waking up, after all. But logic had nothing to do with the threads of worry twisting through the pit of her stomach.

A quick scan of her sapphire gaze revealed a small, folded sheet of paper, pulled neatly from one of Kirika's sketchbooks and propped against her laptop screen. Mirelle plucked it from the table with two fingers, concern fading as she read the words written in Kirika's unmistakable hand.

"_Went out for things – be back soon?" What the hell is that supposed to mean?_ The Corsican went over the note a second time, then a third, irritation growing with each moment. After last night, what in the _hell_ was Kirika thinking! She shouldn't have been going anywhere by herself. And leaving something this vague – be back soon could mean just about anything, for cripes' sake. Did the younger woman expect her to sit around waiting for hours?

_Nevermind that you usually expect her to do the same thing when you go out by yourself._

Mirelle shoved that thought away, crumpling the note in her hand and half-hurling it into the trashcan beside the pool table. Almost stomping, she strode to the bedroom, yanking clothes out with hardly even a glance to see if they matched. So what if Kirika was gone? It wasn't like she needed the Japanese assassin to hold her hand for everything. She'd done things by herself for years!

The cell phone perched on the bedside table began vibrating, lighting up as it rang cheerfully, and in spite of herself the blonde leapt to snatch it up. Maybe Kirika was calling. _And I can give her a piece of my mind,_ Mirelle added the thought hastily, ignoring a snicker from her smirking subconscious. A quick glance at the glowing front screen, though, showed a number she didn't recognize. Lips pursed in a frown, the Corsican paused, mind running with possibilities. _Andre wouldn't have risked calling from a land-line or someone else's phone, especially with Garrison out to get us. Besides, he doesn't even know about the attack yesterday, he wouldn't have a reason to call. Paula and the rest have their names programmed in, so it's not one of them. Besides, all of them would use the apartment phone, not my cell. And there's no way Kirika would be calling – _

– _unless she got attacked again and lost her phone. Then she'd have to use a payphone, and she'd want to make sure to reach me._ After another moment of hesitation, Mirelle sighed and flipped it open, holding the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Miss Bouquet. It's good to hear from you." The aristocratic voice was male, and once again, instantly familiar. Mirelle dropped the shirt she'd pulled out and gaped slightly, sapphire eyes widening. "Mr. Breffort?"

"Yes." A slight rustle, and the blonde could hear leather creaking in the background, as though the Councilman was leaning forward in a high-end office chair. "I apologize for calling at such an early hour. I didn't wake the two of you, did I?"

Her face hardened, voice clipped. "No. Kirika is out, and I'm already up."

"Oh really?" Breffort sounded just a hair surprised for a moment. "In that case, if you aren't too busy, would you consider a meeting with me? I have a bit of information I would like to pass on, and it's – rather sensitive to talk about over the phone."

Mirelle's first reaction was a sulky, childish _no_. Whatever information he had, it couldn't be as important as he was making it sound. Besides, he was a Soldats high Councilman, the deadliest liars there were. Why should she care what he asked? Screw it all.

Still, her gut instincts said she could believe him – and her assassin's training taught her not to give up any possible intel or lead, no matter how slight. She didn't like the idea of going by herself, but she'd be damned if she was going to call Kirika's phone. Let Kirika wonder where she'd gone, _if_ her partner ever got home. "Alright. I'll meet you in half an hour, at the park."

For no more than a second, she could have sworn she could feel Breffort smiling on the other end of the phone. "Of course, my dear. I look forward to it."

"I'll just bet you do." Mirelle muttered darkly, flipping the phone closed without saying goodbye. One hand flung the cell onto the pillows, the other grabbing for her clothes. In minutes, she was dressed and shrugging into her coat.

At least this promised to be something interesting to do.

* * *

_Gee, once again, Mirelle being petty. The dream ended up longer than I meant it to be, so the real confrontation is next chapter - technically, the next two shall happily straighten out exactly who's who and what's going on. (sadistic laugh) Three other one-shots are also in the works - one featuring the Belladonna Lily Woman from episode five or so (and related to the doujinshi), one following Breffort and his feelings for the maidens of death, and another from farther down the road in the what-if universe that deals with a bit of emotional / dramatic semi-fluff. Also, the next chapters should be easier, since I finally got Mirelle's idiotic denials out of the way. xD_


	8. Explosion of Darkness

_Muahahaha, new chapter! (laughs) I can't help but love poor Mirelle, she's trying so hard to convince herself she doesn't need anyone and she's so badass. Which she is, and will be later. xD And here we begin to get into the evil Soldats plotting - otherwise known as "soon Noir will be happily kicking ass."_

* * *

**Explosion of Darkness**

The park was quite nice in the early afternoon. Spring green grass spread in a soft carpet over the smooth ground, dotted with perfectly trimmed hedges, small, well-tended groves of trees, and color-coordinated flower beds. Tasteful paths of inlaid paving stones wound through the area, intersecting at hubs decorated with cement fountains and green-painted wood benches. Birds sang cheerfully, dipping and swooping, some no more than flashes of shimmering feathers in the warm sunlight. A gray squirrel ran across the nearest fountain circle, pausing to stare around it before vanishing with a twitch of its fluffy tail. The air was clean – well, as clean as city air could be – and filled with the scent of growing things. It should have been calm, relaxing.

It seemed more like a trap. Mirelle shifted her bag on her shoulder for the fifth time as she walked, irritation simmering sullenly beneath the good mood usually granted her by the fresh air and sunshine warmth. She felt uncomfortably exposed, more vulnerable then she had been in a long time. The normally solid, comfortable presence of her partner, just behind and to one side, had morphed into an empty hole that ached like a fresh bruise. Every passing businessman out on a stroll, every dog-walker or happily smiling group of friends set her nerves on edge and wound her muscles wire-tight. It was like she was damned-well _naked._ Her upper lip curled in exasperation and disgust. Somehow, it hadn't been this bad when she was away on the Sanders' job. Why was it getting so much worse?

Her throat tightened briefly as sapphire eyes fell on a pair of young women sitting on a blanket under a nearby tree, no older than herself, apparently enjoying a day together in the wonderful weather. The smaller one had dark hair and tanned features, reminding Mirelle instantly of Kirika, though she didn't look Asian and her large eyes were a dusty, normal brown. She was giggling softly at something, snuggling back into the arms of her friend, which were draped around her shoulders protectively. The other girl was taller, almost willowy, with long blonde waves of hair falling down her back and gray-green eyes. Pale skin had a dash of freckles across her nose and bare arms, the mouth next to her friend's ear shaded a soft pink with some light lipstick. She was laughing quietly, too, talking in a low, intimate voice that was nothing more than a murmur even to the Corsican's keen hearing.

The dark-haired girl brought her arms up, hands clasping to her friend's where they rested against her breastbone, body obviously relaxed and content. Mirelle watched without meaning to, heart catching in her chest. The scene was so sweet, it made her smile, but there was also something dark twisting inside her, a painful mix of longing and hidden jealousy spearing through her gut. _Kirika would never be that happy. She's so serious – I don't think I've ever heard her giggle like that._ Her thoughts were almost wistful. _I wish she would sometime. She'd be so pretty._

Then the tall blonde touched her lips to the other young woman's cheek, the movement soft and affectionately gentle, and Mirelle's entire body froze. Her brain stalled, shocked into a single thought. They were –

With an answering smile, the smaller of the two turned slightly, mouth meeting her friend's – her lover's – in a slow, pleased kiss. Mirelle blinked, breath tight and slightly harsh. The sight brought every sensation of her dream roaring back, with an all-new rush of added fantasy._ Kirika was cradled in her arms as they lay together in bed, sheets pulled casually around them and that thick, unruly mop of silken locks tucked perfectly under her chin. Their breath came and went in perfect rhythm, an invisible cloud of warm contentment almost touchable in the air. "Mireyu." Kirika's voice was soft, languid. It wasn't a question, just a happy sigh._

"_Hmmm." Mirelle answered anyway with a quiet humming of her own, eyes lidded and calm. She had never been so relaxed in her life. One arm was wrapped gently around Kirika's slender waist, the other curled around her partner's shoulders, completely at ease with the smaller girl's body leaning back against hers. They were both still in their pajamas, but it didn't matter – this wasn't about sex. It was possession, connection, a reveling in the simple pleasure of being close and the warmth of belonging utterly . . . _

Mirelle shook herself, quickly burying a flaring mix of anger and some strange longing she didn't understand. To her surprise, she found she'd stopped still in the center of the path for a few moments, watching like an intruder as the pair of lovers made out a few dozen yards away. Lips pressed together, she sprang into motion again, steps more hurried than before. Where the hell was Breffort?

She finally spotted him seated on one of the benches, bad leg stretched out, cane held negligently in one hand. Just another businessman enjoying a moment in the sunshine. _Riiiight,_ Mirelle thought sourly. And she was the queen of Sheba. Still, the tense, furious knot in her stomach loosened just a bit. The blonde may not trust her contact, but at least she knew what brand of danger to expect from him. It was a welcome distraction from the uncertainty of the last few days.

Seeing her approach, the Soldats High Councilman stood smoothly, a pleased smile on his lips as he nodded in her direction. He knew better than to offer a hand to shake. "Hello, Miss Bouquet. It's wonderful to see you again."

An answering smirk twitched across Mirelle's face, eyes glinting. She nodded back, one of her own hands tucked casually into the pocket of her jacket. To a normal onlooker, it was a perfectly common gesture, but both she and Breffort knew that her Walter was also settled beneath her fingers, ready to draw at a moments' notice. Not that she would want to shoot through this coat – she and Kirika had picked it out together, and she'd rather not ruin it. Gunpowder, like blood, was next-to-impossible to get out of leather, even if she patched the hole it would leave. "I would say the same, Mr. Breffort, but I dislike lying when I can avoid it."

Breffort laughed. "And of course, this is one of the things I enjoy most about you." He gestured toward the bench. "Would you like to sit, or shall we walk for a little while? I have someone that should arrive soon, but she can find us either way."

"Let's walk." Mirelle realized the words came out faster than she meant them to, soundlessly cursing herself. The two girls were still too close for comfort, cuddled together only a few dozen yards away and patently oblivious to anything but each other. The sight of that dark hair and the long blonde waves mingling bothered her much more than she was willing to admit. "If your leg can handle it, anyway."

The High Councilman nodded, smiling, completely ignoring the slight taunt – although Mirelle was almost sure she caught the barest understanding flick of his shrewd eyes toward the lovers. "After you, my dear."

Mirelle's lips twitched, and she fell in step beside the Soldat, more of a leisurely saunter than a true walk. Breffort was very careful to keep from stepping behind her as well as in front, something she vaguely appreciated. "You said you had information."

Breffort nodded, full silver hair glinting in the sunlight as his face became serious. "I've been working with a few of my contacts to get a better picture of the current situation. Most of them only confirmed what I told you earlier – like myself, the rest of the Council is prepared to leave the two of you be, provided that you are willing to do the same."

"Most?" Mirelle echoed, raising an eyebrow. The older man's faint smile was something almost cynical. "Perceptive, my dear. At the moment, there is at least one other high-ranking Councilman who considers Noir a tool for Soldats' use."

"And of course, his own." The Corsican snorted.

Breffort nodded. "Of course. Although we aren't exactly sure who it is, we know they've been rearranging the movements of the lower foot-soldiers. It's nothing overt, but they're more than triple the numbers they should be here in Paris."

He sighed, shifting the cane's head beneath his palm. "More worrying, though, is the fact that they seem to have plans for the two of you as well. From the intel, it's clear they've got some sort of strategy in the works, but we've only got the barest details."

"Joy." Mirelle muttered under her breath, though she knew the Soldat High Councilman could hear her just fine. A small child ran across the path, dirt and grass staining the knees of her sensible blue jeans and her purple T-shirt. No more than six or seven, her cheeks were rosy in the fresh air, long ponytail of mahogany curls whipping behind her like a glimmering flag and blue eyes bright with glee. Watching the little girl, Mirelle smiled softly, a bare curving of her lips echoing the flash of gentleness in her own sapphire eyes before she turned back to Breffort. He was watching the child too, a similar, affectionate smile on his face. The blonde Corsican's gaze turned wry. "Don't tell me she belongs to you too?"

Breffort glanced back at her, shaking his head slightly, and his smile widened. "No, dear, although I do have nieces and nephews around that age." His gaze turned a shade more intent, almost thoughtful, as if he didn't know whether what he wanted to say would be believed but had to say it anyway. "I find the happiness and . . . innocence of children to be a beautiful thing, worthy of admiration."

Mirelle nearly swallowed her tongue. Half-choking on a combination of indignant fury and righteous disbelief, she coughed and stared at the silver-haired Soldat, not sure whether to glare or laugh as wry resignation touched his elegant features. Before she could manage a reply, movement pulled her gaze to the side. It took only a heartbeat to recognize the tall, slender girl striding toward them, straight blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders and gray eyes glinting with intelligence. "You don't have to believe it, miss Bouquet." Lisa's voice was sharp as she approached. Obviously she'd heard the comment, and the Corsican's less-than-complimentary response. "But contrary to popular belief, my Uncle rarely lies when he isn't forced to."

Her Uncle? Well, that certainly explained the odd looks in the vet's office. Mirelle growled sourly. "So you have people watching us everywhere, huh?"

"Get over yourself." Lisa retorted before Breffort could do more than open his mouth. To Mirelle's not-so-faint surprise, the girl was glaring right back at her, apparently unfazed by the bad mood that usually sent sensible people running for cover. "Not everything has to do with you. I work at the pet store because I like animals, and Dr. Lucas is one of the best vets I've ever known, not to mention a nice person."

Oh. For a moment, Mirelle wasn't sure whether to believe her or not – but thinking hard, she realized she remembered seeing the other blond girl a few times, back before Kirika had even arrived. Breffort was watching her carefully, a touch of caution in his steel-blue eyes. "This is my niece, Lisa Breffort. She recently returned from studying in England and America. Lisa – this is Mirelle Bouquet."

The inanity of the introductions made Mirelle smile just a bit, and glancing back at Lisa, she saw the other girl's lips were twitching too. Their eyes met, and both of their smiles widened wryly. "We've met." Lisa grinned, nodding to Mirelle. The Corsican nodded back, unable to help herself. It _was_ kind of funny. Her voice still came out a bit stiff when she managed to speak again, but it was fairly close to normal again. "How are they?"

The worry on Breffort's face faded slightly, replaced with a flash of carefully hidden confusion. Lisa, on the other hand, laughed shortly. "They're just fine." She assured the Corsican. "I told Dr. Lucas I'd be seeing you today, or she'd have called you this morning. The flea treatment went fine – turned out they didn't actually have worms, somehow – and the infection in Blue-Eyes' ear is mostly cleared up. Dr. Lucas said they could be ready to go home as early as tomorrow."

Mirelle felt an edge of her worry slipping away, like a shallow breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The kittens were important, and knowing they were safe made her feel better. Of course, thinking of the two little fluff-balls brought her thoughts back to Kirika –

– the attack on Kirika –

"Kirika was attacked last night." She spoke suddenly, gaze hardening as she looked back up at Breffort. The older man looked startled, and Lisa openly gaped, her shock obvious enough that it really didn't look fake. In the back of her mind, Mirelle realized their surprise made her feel better; her subconscious hadn't wanted to believe Breffort was involved, even if it made logical sense. She didn't even want to consider why _that_ might be. Shoving the thought aside, she continued, "Ten thugs, all of them in Soldats' favorite suit-uniform. They had weapons, but they didn't draw them."

"Didn't get the chance?" Lisa asked, raising an eyebrow, a ghost of a grin hovering on her lips. Obviously, she knew about Kirika's deadly prowess.

"Not the first few, but even the ones that had a chance didn't try." She'd gone over the attack with Kirika at least twice, detail by detail as only a trained assassin could, until she knew the events backwards and forwards. It still didn't make any sense. "It was almost like they were – " She paused.

"Sacrificial lambs?" Breffort picked up the thread wryly, his voice laced with faint hints of a soft sadness. Mirelle knew what he was thinking. She and Kirika had been the last 'lambs' in the trials of Noir, but there were so many others. Chloe, Uncle Claude and the rest of Mirelle's family, Kirika's unknown family, the hundreds of targets and nameless, faceless enemies they had taken out over their lifetimes – all led or brought to the slaughter. Shaking away the many dark memories, Mirelle nodded, and Lisa looked concerned. Breffort, too, seemed definitely grim. "It isn't unheard of to have foot-soldiers used as decoys and disposable targets, although most of us choose not to do so."

_So the sheep volunteer to be eaten?_ The retort rose instinctively to Mirelle's mind, though she found she really didn't feel like antagonizing the two of them any more than usual. They were being helpful, in their own way. Obviously they had their own reasons, but she realized she could live with that. Instead, she moved on. "So you think someone was testing Kirika?"

Breffort nodded slowly. He could see Mirelle's eyes flash with raging anger at the thought, and he knew it ate at her that someone might threaten her partner with something she couldn't defend against. The Corsican was strangely predictable, in her own very inscrutable way. She would never voluntarily admit how deeply she cared for the smaller Japanese assassin, but to anyone who had watched them as long and as closely as he had, it was almost painfully obvious. Still, he wouldn't mention it outright, at least not right now – there were more important things to worry about. "I would assume it was part of the plans they've laid out. Our people are still working on getting the details."

"Slowpokes." Mirelle snorted, the word leaving her mouth without thinking about it, and Lisa choked on a light laugh. "It's harder to do than it sounds." She pointed out calmly. "We have to make sure there isn't any way to trace it back to us, either. Uncle's personal views aside, it's very bad for one Councilman to be caught giving information on another."

_Not bad giving the information, just to be caught._ The Corsican's lips twitched with a smirk, and Lisa's eyes were knowing. Breffort sighed tolerantly, continuing. "Now that we know about the attack, it might be easier to find some information – "

A ringing in the breast pocket of his suit interrupted him, and the Soldats' Councilman fished out a rather ordinary-looking cell phone, giving Mirelle an apologetic glance before flipping it open and holding it to his ear. "Yes?" Listening for a moment, he sighed. "Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Mirelle knew that look, and judging from the expression on Lisa's face, so did she. Snapping the phone closed, Breffort shook his head. "I'm afraid we have to leave, my dear. There's been a problem at the office." His eyes flashed, a glint somewhere between curiosity and a faint, teasing amusement. "You'll give our regards to Miss Yuumura when she gets home?"

"Of course." Mirelle tried her best to keep her trademark smirk and ignore the comment, even though it seemed to stab at her heart like small needles. Unbidden, her eyes flicked across the grass, somehow finding the pair of lovers beneath the tree. They were still there, although they'd finally stopped kissing, simply curled happily in each others' arms with a soft flush on both girls' cheeks. The sight made her feel oddly better and worse at the same time. "You know how to reach me."

Lisa nodded seriously, and Breffort inclined his head with a slow, noble-looking motion. "Be – safe, my dear. _Bon heur_."

_Good luck._ Mirelle watched them walk away, wondering what Breffort had meant by that and almost afraid she knew. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a sigh, turning back the way she came.

Maybe Kirika was home by now.

* * *

"Here we are."

Kirika took a deep breath as Alexander's moped slid expertly into a parking space just in front of the apartment, the throbbing roar of the engine trailing off into a low, dull growl. Carefully, she loosened her arms from around Alex's waist and stood on the sidewalk, lifting her borrowed helmet from her head in a smooth motion. She was surprised to see her hands were trembling slightly, muscles shaking all over her body. Was she really that scared?

"Don't be scared." Alexander murmured softly, giving the kickstand a practiced whack with the heel of his boot before swinging his leg over the 'bike' to stand beside her. Kirika raised an eyebrow in surprise. The brown-haired young man pulled off his helmet and glanced over to her, lips quirking in a crooked sort of grin while he answered the unspoken question in her eyes. "You're not obvious. Anybody in your position would be scared. Hell, _I'm_ terrified." He dropped the helmet on the leather seat. "Is she there?"

"Yes." Kirika could answer that without ever looking; she'd felt the presence of the blonde the moment they pulled up, and even if she hadn't noticed the curtains twitching lightly in her periphery vision, she'd have recognized the weight of Mirelle's sapphire eyes focused on her. It wasn't usually an uncomfortable heaviness – but considering what she and Alex were about to do, it was more than a little worrying.

"So you're ready." The words were more statement than question, Alexander's eyes focused intently on Kirika as she set Lisa's helmet back on its rightful hook. She managed to swallow hard, nodding ever so slightly. Her throat was painfully tight, chest so squeezed it felt like she was caught in a vise. If this worked, she'd be able to confess her feelings for Mirelle, and Mirelle would confess her own feelings. If it didn't work . . .

She wouldn't think of that. Alex's smile was soft, understanding. He took her hand, carefully tugging her almost flush with his body. "It's okay, Kirika." His whisper made her shiver from head to toe. Her heart was beating triple-time; she was sure she'd never felt this frightened in her life. Before she could lose her nerve, the young woman surged forward, pressing her lips to her friend's.

_Ohhh._ Kirika would have squeaked if her body hadn't been otherwise occupied. Alexander's arm moved carefully around her waist, the smooth motion cradling her softly. It wasn't that the kiss itself was particularly spectacular. A fluttering in her chest, a slow tingle against her mouth, nothing much more than that. But her heart was still pounding, slamming so hard she could feel it through every part of her body. This had to work, it just had to.

Alex pulled back a few seconds later, breathing just slightly faster. "I think the first part of it all definitely worked." He whispered. "I can feel her eyes burning holes in the back of my head. When you get this all sorted out, make sure to tell her I was only helping, okay?"

Kirika giggled softly, surprising herself. Okay, it _was_ kind of funny, a little. Nervous giggles, she supposed. Glancing up at Alexander, she smiled faintly. "I promise." The Japanese assassin agreed. On impulse, she hugged her friend quickly. "Think it looked real?"

"As a heart attack." Alex grinned back down at her. "The hug was a nice touch." Scooping up his helmet again, he swung his leg back over the bike and settled in his seat as Kirika glowed with pride. "See you later, Kirika. Good luck."

With a nod, Kirika watched him buckle his helmet, kick the kickstand back up and rev the engine. He roared away, and she turned toward the apartment door, carefully not looking up at the windows. She was trembling all over again.

Time to face the lion.

_

* * *

Meanwhile:_

Mirelle glanced up from her glowing computer monitor for the millionth time in the last hour, sapphire eyes automatically tracking to the windows before she sighed and dropped her gaze. Damnit, this was so stupid – it wasn't like watching would make Kirika appear any faster, for cripes' sake.

Still, where was her partner? It wasn't anywhere like Kirika to have been gone this long, especially not without calling or even leaving a better note. Mirelle had returned from her meeting with Breffort, put in a call to Dr. Lucas to make sure the kittens were alright, made the bed, cleaned up what little mess was in the apartment, grabbed something to eat and been surfing the 'Net for at least an hour.

Pushing to her feet, the Corsican trotted listlessly into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cabinet and filling it at the sink. The orchids on the windowsill looked like they could use a bit more water, and it was something to do that didn't involve sitting on her butt, at least. Flipping off the tap, she moved back into the afternoon sun spilling into the apartment proper. If Kirika didn't get home soon, she'd have to start the dinner preparations by herself. It wasn't an appealing thought.

_Awwww, is the big bad assassin missing her bankie?_ Again, that inner voice piped up, smirking and sarcastic. _On second thought, Kirika's probably a lot warmer than a blanket – and so much more fun to play with – _

Mirelle's upper lip curled, and she took a deep breath before she touched either the orchids or the water glass again. She'd never forgive herself for hurting Kirika's plants in a moment of anger, even if it was partly the younger woman's fault. They didn't deserve her fury.

The roar of a souped-up moped below distracted her from her dark, brooding thoughts, and the Corsican glanced down in surprise as the bike pulled up in front of the building. She recognized the smaller figure instantly – she'd helped Kirika pick them out, after all. But what was Kirika doing with some guy on a moped?

_It must be Alexander._ The simple thought made Mirelle's fists clench, jaw tight with a flaring of rage. Kirika had _sworn_ she wouldn't look for him or hang out with him again. She _swore_! Swallowing hard, she watched the two of them get off and stand talking for a few seconds, her mind humming with the chaos of raw emotion and thought. How could Kirika have made a promise and then broken it? _Why_ would she have broken it? Mirelle couldn't believe it. Maybe she had run into him by accident, that made sense – but then why would he be bringing her home? Was this boy who she'd been out with the whole time? It didn't make sense, if she'd just happened to run into him, she should have called! And why were they still standing there talking, anyway? Didn't Kirika realize her partner was watching? Didn't she even _care_?

This was all so stupid. She should just leave the window and let Kirika get up here – they could talk calmly and rationally about this whole idiotic thing –

Then she saw that familiar head dart forward, meeting Alexander's lips with a soft and gentle kiss, and Mirelle's brain came to a screeching halt in a blanket of pure, red-hazed fury. _How **dare** he!_ The blood roared through her ears like thunder, a voice tearing from the deepest part of her mind in a primal scream. _He touched her, he's touching her, he's holding her how **dare** he! SHE'S MINE! **MINE! Mineminemineminemine**!_

Her teeth were gritted so hard her jaw hurt. _I'll kill him. He doesn't deserve to live, that sonofabitch_ – her thoughts degenerated into a swirling storm of curses in several different tongues. She would kill him, she would rip the bastard's tongue out, she'd tear his treacherous hands off and feed them to him. He had touched her beautiful Kirika, he deserved to die.

_Yeah, but she started it._ The sarcastic voice smirked. _You saw it. **She** kissed **him** first. They look so very cozy together, too. Riding double on the bike, a cute little kiss goodbye – _

_SHUT UP!_ Mirelle screamed the word in her own head, slamming her fist into the sill hard enough to make the potted plants shiver. Her rage was growing in leaps and bounds, a fire burning out of control in her chest and lungs so tight it hurt to draw breath. Below, the two of them had pulled apart, and Mirelle glared furiously as they spoke again. Kirika giggled, the sound like a razor slashing at her heart; the boy got back on his bike, and Kirika hugged him, sending the blonde's blood to a boil of jealousy and rage. _HE_ made Kirika giggle? He, not her? It – it wasn't _fair_!

The bike roared away again, and Kirika turned toward the building. Upstairs, Mirelle snarled, slamming the window shut again. Her hands shook so badly she didn't dare pick up the glass to bring it back to the kitchen – not that she wanted to. Kirika had to have known Mirelle was standing there, had to have known when Alexander brought her home what the result would be. This was going to be a showdown.

_Bring it on._

* * *

_(snicker) Yeaaaaah, showdown sounds about right. Poor things, I put them through so much shit. xD Please excuse the choppiness of Mirelle's little hissy fit - somehow I don't imagine her being too coherent at that point, even with herself. And yes Kirika is OOC at the very end, there is a very good reason for that which will be explained in the next few chapters. So no flamers telling me Kiri-tan doesn't giggle or hug, please._

_As a sidenote, my webcomics will officially be up soon, linked as my homepage. For those wondering, there will be two manga - one a doujinshi (fan-sequel) to Noir called **Le Deux Retour.** No romance in that one - sorry to the Mirelle / Kirika loving crowd - but there will be Chloe, and new characters, and my own take on all the mysteries Bee Train insisted on leaving unsolved. The other will be my own graphic novel, aNoir-similar action drama called**Whisper Blade.** There'll also be raw sketches, layouts, character bios, and possibly even swag! (for Whisper Blade, not Noir, obviously) Feel free to come visit!_

_Oh, and PLEASE R&R! Pretty please?_


	9. Clash of Shadowed Blades

_Ooookay, it's late, and I'm tired as all get out, but I did what I swore I would and got this chapter finished! (glee, yawn) Witty comments shall come later - think I'll reply to some reviews now, 'cause I luff my reviewers. xD_

_MV: Ha, someone did notice! Apparently, when I re-wrote that sentence I forgot to add the bit about her clothes. I noticed it after the chapter was posted, though I wasn't sure if anyone else had. (snicker) 2am is not the greatest time to proofread things._

_Imnothingbutadream: Yes, that's how you spell moped. It looks funny to me, too, but I spellchecked. xD_

_Gabbie: (snuggle) Muahahaha, you should see the stuff I've got planned for Gaia. Is it bad that I actually have no idea what a beta reader is? (blush)_

_Everyone else: I LOVE REVIEWERS! Many hugs all around for all of you. And cookies. And candies and soda. xD_

* * *

**Clash of Shadowed Blades**

Kirika turned her key in the lock, wincing as the motion made a loud, metallic scrape, then carefully pushed the door open, bag hanging once more from her shoulder. She'd managed to get a better grip on herself during the walk upstairs, though she was still trembling and a bit light-headed. Almost cynically, she realized she'd rather be facing down a hundred armed thugs than actually walking into the apartment as if nothing was wrong. This wasn't just scary or frightening, it was downright terrifying. "Mirelle?"

"So you finally decided to come home, hmm?" Mirelle's voice came quiet from the other side of the flat, her lean frame poised half-turned beside the window. The words echoed in the air, as unaffected and mocking as they would have been when the two of them had first met. Her sapphire eyes flicked toward the door, absolutely casual, then shifted away again like the sight of her partner meant nothing.

Kirika's heart skipped a beat, stomach tightening with a strange, almost warning ache. "I left a note." She replied, pleased that her voice didn't waver. Closing the door, she dropped her bag against the wall, calm as she could be, though her pulse was racing. This didn't sound like it was going to go the way she'd hoped.

"Be back soon?" The retort was sharper than before, laced with a hidden heat. Mirelle turned toward her a bit stiffly, jerky, like she was having problems keeping her muscles under control. Kirika could hear her breathing pick up, the Corsican's nostrils flaring just a bit, and she snorted with sarcasm. "That's not a note, that's a brush off." Her gaze flashed fire. "But I guess you were having too much fun with _Alex_ to call."

And there was the opening! Kirika nearly blew the entire operation to give a squeal of pure glee. Oh, Alex had been right! Mirelle was obviously jealous – so much angrier than she should have been, even considering the attack last night. There was something there, the younger woman knew it. Her throat tightened, but Kirika forced herself to look up with a calm, slightly surprised glance. Only her flushed cheeks gave her away. "I – met him at the art store." She said softly, trying as hard as she could to sound contrite. "He just offered me a ride home."

"So you kiss everybody that gives you a ride?" Mirelle bit out, almost a growl. She threw up her hands. "God, Kirika, he could be some Soldats' punk for all you know! How can you trust him?"

"It was just a ride!" Kirika fought not to sound guilty and failed spectacularly. Mirelle couldn't know she already knew Alexander was a member of Soldats, of course, but she still felt bad about lying. Straightening, the Japanese assassin moved to the center of the flat, keeping her eyes focused on her partner. She managed to sound both surprised and almost exasperated – no mean feat when she wanted to just grab her partner and hug her. "He's a friend, Mirelle. You have friends!"

"I don't kiss Paula or Andre!" The Corsican shot back in a snarl. She strode forward a few steps, her boots clacking sharply on the floor before she jerked to a stop again. It was like she didn't dare touch Kirika or get too close. "You promised you weren't going to see him again – good grief, Kirika, don't you get it!"

Kirika blinked. "Get what! It's not like I have to tell him every piece of my life just because I know him." Somehow, she had a sudden sinking feeling the 'plan' was about to slip sideways. This didn't sound right. "Besides, can't I have a little fun once in a while? It's not a big deal!"

"You could get us both killed!" Mirelle was having none of it, entire body taut and muscles singing with tension. The very air around her seemed ready to explode. "If you want to be partners with someone, you can't keep putting them in danger with stupid, idiot things!"

_Just partners?_ Kirika felt her heart slam into her ribs. Mirelle wasn't confessing feelings – she was talking about their very partnership, their core! A flare of rage flooded the younger girl. What the _hell_ gave Mirelle the right to dictate everything between them, anyway? Why couldn't the Corsican treat her like an equal, a true partner and friend? "I don't spill my guts to people just because I know them, Mirelle!" They were now hardly a foot apart, glaring at each other. "I'm smarter than that!"

"You couldn't prove it by me!" The blonde snapped, not quite yelling. "Throwing away everything for some stupid little puppy crush on some bastard you don't know anything about sounds pretty damned stupid!"

Flashpoint. Kirika wasn't sure what it was, exactly – her own hurt feelings, the stress of the last few days, or maybe Mirelle standing there like the very image of the "ice-cold people" Alexander had mentioned. Fists clenched, she hurled her response straight up into the Corsican's face. "Just because you want to cut yourself off from everything and stay cold and alone doesn't mean I have to!"

_Crack!_

The sharp slapping sound of flesh meeting flesh was almost as loud as a gunshot in the sunlit apartment. Kirika staggered backward, cheek stinging viciously and eyes wide, her entire body frozen in total shock. The outline of a handprint stood out stark and throbbing on the golden skin. Mirelle, too, stood motionless, elbow still bent and right arm still partly outstretched, the lingering rage on her face outshone by stunned disbelief. For a few more moments, both stood in stunned tableau. Had that really just happened?

Then Kirika's eyes filled with a flood of tears. Mirelle had – Mirelle hit – it _hurt_! Spinning on her heels, the younger woman choked on a despairing cry, bolting blindly out the door at the speed only an assassin could match. She ignored the soft gasping sound from Mirelle's direction, the instinctive noise that could have been her name or a command to stop and wait falling on deaf ears. Her bag lay forgotten on the floor, but it didn't matter.

It had the pieces of her heart to keep it company, after all.

* * *

Half an hour later, Kirika slumped against the side of a building, her breath a hard, painful rasp that burned fire down her throat and chest. It was nothing compared to the whirling of her mind and the ache in her heart. Mirelle had _hit_ her! Not just hit, but _slapped_ her, hard!

_I deserved it, I should never have said that, I'm an awful, horrible partner – Mirelle shouldn't love me, she couldn't love me – _Tears poured down her face. What could she do? How could she fix this horrible, horrible mess she'd made? Who could possibly help her?

Alexander!

Straightening up, she dug shakily in her pocket. Alex had given her a slip of paper with his cell phone number on it before they'd driven home. He hadn't wanted Mirelle to see it, but he'd wanted to make sure she had some way to really get hold of him. She wouldn't call on her cell phone – in spite of Mirelle's comment, she really wasn't that stupid – but she did have a couple quarters in her pocket. A look around showed her a deserted payphone on the nearest corner; Kirika slipped over to it, almost a shuffle, mechanically jamming the money through the coin slot and holding the receiver to her ear. The seven and eight buttons were slightly sticky, like a little kid had touched them with tiny, candy-smeared fingers. Kirika didn't care.

The other end was picked up almost immediately. "Hello?"

"A-Alexander?" Kirika sniffed and tried to control the sobs that wracked her lean frame. Her voice was wobbly and weak, but at the moment, she didn't much care about that, either. "It – it's – "

"Kirika!" Her friend sounded shocked and a bit baffled. "Kirika, what's wrong? What happened?"

She gasped for breath, still choking on tears. "I messed everything up. Oh Alex, I'm so stupid – it's all my fault – Mirelle – " Unable to finish through her weeping, she swallowed another trembling cry.

"Shhhh." Alexander's soothing was firm. "Where are you?"

Blinking, the dark-haired young woman wiped at her face, clearing her gaze to find a street sign. She repeated the names to Alex, who made another soft, calming noise. "Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes. Can you walk two blocks down and one over? There's a café there."

Kirika nodded dully, then remembered Alexander couldn't see it. "I'll be there."

"I'll meet you." Alex's voice was gentle. "Don't worry, Kirika, we'll sort this out, I promise."

* * *

"So she – " Alexander blinked, looking stunned. "She actually _hit_ you?"

"S-Slapped me." Kirika corrected. Her words were lifeless, every part of her numb. She didn't want to feel or think – both of them hurt. Just explaining the fight to Alex had taken what little energy she'd had left after crying her heart out. Tears still welled in her haunted eyes. "I deserved it, Alex, I was so stupid – "

"Hey now, stop that." Gentle hands wiped her face before hugging her lightly around the shoulders. "Drink your soda." Alexander pushed her paper cup closer to her, tucking a damp lock of hair behind her ear. They'd met at the café about half an hour before, where the young man had gotten one look at Kirika and immediately taken charge, ordering drinks for the two of them and steering her to a small table away from the other patrons. He'd grabbed the sodas and a thick stack of napkins to dry her tears, then sat patiently while she'd shakily recounted everything that had happened since he left. Now he leaned forward, elbows on the table, having dragged his chair over next to hers. His gaze was so direct and warm she wanted to cry all over again. "It's not just your fault, Kirika. Mirelle didn't need to hit you just because you said something mean. And – I guess my idea wasn't exactly the greatest, either."

"It wasn't your fault." Kirika sucked at the straw, more because Alex had told her to than anything else. It was something to do – motion that kept her pain at bay for a few seconds. A corner of Alexander's mouth turned up in a crooked, sheepish smile. "Part of it is. I should have guessed she wouldn't react too well. She's got more major emotional problems than I realized, and they're not gonna disappear instantly. I think she's just still scared of her own feelings."

Kirika took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So – So what do I do?" She asked, her voice soft and very, very small. "I'm scared too, Alexander. I – I don't want her to hate me."

"I doubt that's possible." Alexander ruffled her bangs lightly, his gaze gentle. "She loves you, Kirika. This proves it, really. That's the only reason it would hurt so much when you fight like this. You just – have to sort out all the baggage. Love's complicated like that. At least, that's what all the song writers say."

He smiled, looking pleased when she smiled half-heartedly back. "Come on." With a wider grin, he took her hand, bringing her to her feet. "We'll go snag you some chocolate to cheer you up, and then we can grab some kind of present for Mirelle on the way back, okay?"

Kirika nodded, following him around the tables and back out to the street. After the events of the last hour, she was physically and mentally exhausted, so tired it almost hurt to move. Part of her – a large part – just wanted to lay down and sleep. She blinked once, then twice, forcing herself to focus on Alex's back. It was almost a dozen steps before she realized she had no idea where they were going. "Alex?"

"Hmm?" His voice sounded far away, distant, and it didn't seem like he'd slowed down any. Kirika yawned, nearly cracking her jaw as she trotted after him. "Where are we going?"

"I told ya, we're gonna go shopping." Alexander turned a corner, calm as could be, and Kirika followed obediently. A crack in the concrete sidewalk made her stumble; wobbling slightly, she blinked again and reached to steady herself on the nearest wall. Brick scraped roughly under her fingertips, her hand nearly missing it completely. Was she really that far away from the building? It looked so close. "Alex – "

Her brain pulled to a rough halt, body following a few stagger moments later. Why did her voice sound so odd? It was slow, almost slurred. She leaned against the wall, mind whirling dizzily. "What – what's going on, Alex?"

"Hmmm? Oh, good, you stopped." Alex's frame seemed to waver as he turned around, arms folded casually across his chest. "I didn't want you to fall and break your nose or something when you pass out. That just never really heals properly, you know? Not to mention you could end up breathing in blood and drowning."

_Pass – out?_ Kirika wanted to repeat the words, but her mouth didn't seem to want to work. Alexander's eyes glittered down at her like solid green ice. Now Kirika could feel her muscles weakening, knees and arms turning to heavy, shaking blobs of goo. Her brain was fogged over, random images and snippets of conversation flashing through her thoughts.

"_You really do her justice." How would Alexander know the drawings looked like Mirelle unless he'd seen a real picture of her?_

_The thugs that attacked – she'd never seen any of them go after Alex, only the bodies. She'd assumed they'd attacked him too, but – what if they hadn't? Why would they leave him alone?_

_How had Alexander made the leap to call her Soldats, even though the very existence of the group was secret? Why would he go against all training to ask her if she belonged, unless he was sure who she was?_

"_With you as her partner and family, I can sort of see why." How could Alex possibly know she was Mirelle's only 'family?'_

_All the plans, all the little nagging doubts and little aside comments – how he seemed to know exactly how she felt, how Mirelle felt – _

"You." She breathed, forcing herself to look up at him. It was so hard to even speak. "You planned – you set us up."

Alexander smiled, that Cheshire Cat grin of mischief and glee. "Of course." He chuckled softly as her eyes fell shut again, too heavy to stay open. "Took quite a bit of planning, but it was worth it. And of course, you and Mirelle helped so very much. It's so nice to deal with emotionally troubled people – you two reacted exactly the way I knew you would."

Kirika gave a breathy groan, slumped against the wall. She could hear the odd, echoing scatto of business shoes coming closer, but she couldn't move or even open her eyes to see who it was. Whatever Alex had given her was working insanely fast. Distant and far away, she felt someone reach into her pocket and draw out her cell phone. "Check it for the other's cell." A man's voice ordered. Kirika smiled faintly. He wouldn't find Mirelle's cell phone number listed anywhere in the electronic phonebook; they'd memorized each others' numbers for just this reason, as paranoid as they'd thought it might be at the time. These bastards wouldn't get to the Corsican through her.

"It isn't here." Answered another voice a few minutes later, as Kirika drifted in and out of consciousness. Something grabbed at her, a heavy hand yanking her up by a hard grip on her hair. Kirika squeaked, cursing her pathetic weakness and trying to bat the attacker away, but she might as well have been trying to roll boulders up a mountain for all the good it did. The second voice spoke again, even more menacing than it should have been due to the mess the drugs were making of her hearing. "What's the bitch's number?"

Kirika had no answer, and the man shook her like a rag doll, her body jerking in ugly little spasms as her twisted limbs tried to compensate for the movement. Teeth gritted, the Japanese assassin tried again, dredging up every ounce of effort she could. This time, her fingertips found the bare skin of an arm, and she dragged her nails across it, fierce satisfaction making her woozy all over again as she heard the man yelp in pain. The hand in her hair dragged her upright, muscles shrieking in nauseous protest, then released the locks to snatch her around the throat instead. Fingers squeezed, and Kirika choked, lungs wheezing while she fought for air. "I asked you a question, you little whore!"

"Derrick, don't rough up the merchandise." Alexander's voice was hardly recognizable, calm and uninterested as though he were talking about a statue or a piece of furniture. Kirika wanted to spit at him, but she couldn't even breathe, let alone see to aim. The man holding her gave a snarl, and Kirika could feel him glowering for a few seconds before he tossed her away. Her slender form bounced off the wall to land in a heap on the dirty street. "Besides, I know the number for the house phone. She'll be there."

She didn't have to see him to know he was smirking. "I'll just arrange a little meeting, and she can get her first assignment."

"You're sure she'll do it?" The first man asked.

"Of course." Alex's tone came as a wicked laugh. "She'd do anything to make sure we don't hurt her partner. Love being a many splendored thing and all that. Now give me the phone."

Kirika lay motionless on the pavement, tears hot enough to scald welling in her eyes, unable to move even an inch, and finally began to pray. Not for rescue – she didn't deserve it. She never had, especially not now. No, Kirika Yuumura prayed to any god that would listen that Mirelle had left the apartment. That after their fight, the beautiful Corsican had given up on waiting for her and decided to go out. Walking, shopping, even on an impulsive vacation trip out to the country to teach her partner a lesson. It didn't matter, as long as she wasn't home.

And as the darkness finally reached up to claim her, a single tear slid slowly down her cheek. _Mirelle, forgive me. Please, please, be gone. Be happy without me._

* * *

_Meanwhile:_

How could she have been so effing stupid?

Mirelle sighed, rubbing a tired hand across her face. She'd been pacing up and down the length of the apartment for nearly forty-five minutes now, and she still couldn't wrap her mind around what had just happened. The kiss, the fight, the shouted words and her instinctive attack and Kirika's running off, all of it was unreal. Like watching something from a foreign film, in a language she didn't know.

She looked down at her hand with bleak, pained eyes. It looked so normal, just as it always did; as though it hadn't been responsible for something so horrifying and unforgivable. Appearances were deceiving, the Corsican thought morosely. She could still feel Kirika's cheek against her palm, the stinging weight of the slap sitting like an accusation on her skin. The haunted, destroyed look in Kirika's eyes as she stared up at her partner – it made Mirelle's chest tight and her whole body ache.

Hell, it had taken her ten minutes to even move after Kirika had fled from the flat. She'd managed to gasp her partner's name, but shock had kept her rooted until long after that small, familiar figure had vanished from the doorway. Even when she could move again, she hadn't known what to do. Run after Kirika? Then what? Even if she somehow found the younger woman, what would she say? What could she possibly say to make up for something so terribly stupid?

On autopilot, she picked up the glass she'd left on the window sill and returned it to the kitchen, putting it and a few other utensils in the dishwasher. Returning to the living room, the Corsican noticed dully that Kirika's backpack still leaned against the wall, zippers glinting mockingly in the overhead lights. Crossing to it, she lifted the weight carefully, hands almost hesitant to touch this private piece of her partner's life. _I'm not worthy of her anymore. I shouldn't even be near this –_

Still, her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, pulling the bag open and reverently lifting the stack of sketchbooks free. The one on top was achingly familiar, lead smudges taunting the part of her still faintly angry. Here was another secret. What else would Kirika have hidden from her in these plain pages? Setting the rest of the pads down, she cradled the special book to her chest, debating. Curiosity warred with instinctual shame. Kirika already had to hate her – what was the English saying? _In for a penny, in for a pound._ She couldn't get into any more trouble looking, could she?

Carefully, slowly, she opened the front of the sketchbook –

– and felt her heart stop, the floor dropping away beneath her.

It was . . . _her_. The first page was a waist-up sketch in pencil, herself apparently standing in front of the dresser and smiling faintly, hand raised as though reaching to tuck a wavy lock of hair behind one ear. Stunned, Mirelle blinked, awed by the care and attention lavished on the drawing. Such complexity – she'd known Kirika was talented, but this was so far beyond anything she'd ever seen. It was absolutely beautiful.

Turning the pages in a daze, Mirelle's shock grew. Every sketch was her. Mostly mechanical pencil, some inked over, but a vivid few in the vibrant hues of marker, colored pencil and pastels. Herself sleeping, making breakfast or tea, working on the computer or rolling poolballs across the table, laying in a sun lounger – they took her breath away. All of them were gorgeous, infinitely detailed, made by someone who had obviously spent hours adoringly studying her subject. How long had Kirika been drawing these?

The blonde's hands shook, a fine trembling that swept straight through her. Slowly, she closed the sketchpad and set it atop the others, moving shakily to the couch. Kirika hadn't wanted her to see the book – but all the pictures were of her – why? Was Kirika afraid she would be angry? Was she embarrassed?

_She shouldn't be._ Mirelle thought numbly. _They're so beautiful. I love them – oh Kirika, you shouldn't be scared. I should never make you scared._

Her throat tightened, eyes stinging suspiciously. Every fiber of her being hurt, filled with such pain it was almost a real ache. She wanted so badly to have Kirika here, to hug her and hold her, that it felt like an absolute physical need. The thought of Kirika being frightened of her was a stab to her heart. She knew what it was like to be afraid of the person she cared for most.

_No, you don't._ Her subconscious broke in unexpectedly. _You've never been afraid of Kirika, not truly. Scared of her actions, of the weapon they tried to make her into maybe, but not her. Not even the first time._

_The first time?_ Mirelle didn't quite understand. The first time she'd really met Kirika – it was at the construction site, wasn't it? What was she thinking of? There was something more there, the soft sounds of a hauntingly familiar melody teasing her senses into a longer version of an old memory . . .

_She was a child again, eight years old, standing in the doorway of the veranda in a dress and shiny buckle shoes, her hair tied back with a ribbon and her teddy bear held in one arm. She'd come looking for her family – Mama, Papa and Jean-Claude. They had been out here, Mama and Papa talking, Jean-Claude reading his favorite new English book._

_What she'd found was a massacre. Papa sprawled on the floor, his head tilted funny, white shirt soaked with the crimson spreading in pools across the pretty tiles. Mama was on the floor, too, her skirts twisted askew like she fell, one blood-spattered hand flung out in front of her; Jean-Claude lay half under her, slumped over, his book laying forgotten in another of the scarlet puddles. None of them were moving, and a sharp, acrid smell hung over everything._

_And standing in the middle of it, only a few feet away from her, was a little girl in overalls and a T-shirt, her shoes an odd shade of pink. Her small hands were wrapped around a heavy-looking gun, metal glinting in the light. She had a thick, dark mop of hair and golden tanned skin, her features delicate and pretty. And her eyes – _

_The eyes were beautiful, soft brown with highlights of warm red. Their gazes locked, staring into each others' faces, and Mirelle was surprised to realize she felt absolutely no fear. She knew, even as a child, that this girl had killed her family. After all, she wasn't stupid; her parents and brother were obviously dead, shot by the gun the other child held. But caught in those amazing eyes, something deeper than rational thought was convinced this girl would never hurt her._

_The girl had lowered her hands already while they watched each other. Now she stowed the gun in her pocket, its heavy weight dragging at her pant leg, and looked up with an odd, solemn, almost shy expression. Her voice was quiet, musical as she spoke in English. "You – dropped your teddy bear."_

_Stepping forward with catlike grace, she stooped and picked up the toy where it had tumbled forgotten to the ground, only inches from the spreading lake of crimson. She held it out by one plush arm, and a slightly surprised Mirelle reached out to take the other, tucking her stuffed companion in the crook of her elbow once more. "Thank you." She replied softly in the same language. She didn't want her bear bloody, after all. The fact that it was the blood of her parents and brother – almost her entire world – didn't seem to truly register yet._

_Looking up, she saw the child's gaze track across the floor, focusing on the silver pocket watch that had been her Papa's. It had fallen open when it hit the tiles, playing its pretty little melody into the deadly quiet. Mirelle leaned forward and scooped it up, the round weight cradled in her small free palm. After a few seconds, she held it out gravely. Somehow, she knew. "This – it's yours now, isn't it?"_

_The girl nodded, as though the question weren't odd at all. Reaching out, she carefully took the open watch, her fingers brushing Mirelle's for a few strangely intense seconds. They stayed like that for a long moment, hands touching; then, almost reverently, the dark-haired child closed the lid, an audible click cutting off the soft music. "Thank you." She whispered, tucking the metal gently into one of her other pockets. Her gaze returned to Mirelle, and there was an edge of warmth there now, shy and soft sweetness just beneath the surface. She wasn't smiling, not exactly . . . but she wasn't _not_ smiling, either. Whatever the emotion, her eyes glowed with it._

_Mirelle found herself not-smiling back, just a little – then the sound of running feet turned her head – her uncle's face appeared, his curly golden hair disheveled, eyes wide with horror and panic – the flash of sunlight on a gun barrel, then on a blade, while a strong arm yanked her backward – and the young girl spun and leapt away, the undone strap of her overalls swinging in a glittering arch –_

Back in the present, Mirelle gaped, shocked. She hadn't remembered all of that before – until their trial at the Manor, her memories had ended when she opened the door to the veranda and saw the death within. Since then, bits and pieces after that moment had flickered back into her thoughts, but nothing that clear or vivid. Somehow, the painful stress of the last few days – especially the last hour – must have brought it crashing back to the surface.

_And you still never feared her. You knew she would never hurt you._

Her subconscious, soft and serious for once, was right enough to make Mirelle groan as she flopped back on the couch cushions. No, she had never feared Kirika, not even when she stood over the bodies of her family and stared face to face with their killer. Not even when she'd arrived at the Manor and fought the weapon they'd forged her partner into, knowing in the back of her mind and deep in her heart that Kirika would either return to her or kill her. Somehow, beyond anything intelligent or logical, she knew for certain Kirika would never hurt her intentionally.

_Unintentionally, though, it felt like she tried to drive a spike through my heart._ The blonde Corsican sighed, her mind and emotions once again in a whirl. Seeing Kirika kissing Alexander had made her impossibly angry; infuriated, really, unable to think clearly and fighting for every ounce of control she managed to salvage. She didn't quite understand why, only that it made her want to scream and rant and throw things across the room in a fit like she hadn't had since she was a very small child. Then hearing those sharp, painful words thrown from her partner's beautiful mouth – it had been like pouring gasoline on a raging fire.

But she still didn't understand how she could have been angry enough to lash out at Kirika that way.

_Boy, you really are emotionally dense._ Her inner voice mocked. If it could have, Mirelle had a feeling her subconscious would be rolling its eyes. _The only reason you slapped her was because your pissed-off pride was stronger than your passion right then. You had to touch her – _how_ you did it was up in the air._

_What!_ The Corsican yelped in surprise, sapphire eyes wide, forgetting for a moment she was arguing with herself. _I did _not_ want – there was nothing passionate about it!_

_Oh really?_ The reaction was a sarcastic snort. _You don't think so?_

"_Just because you want to cut yourself off from everything and stay cold and alone doesn't mean I have to!"_

_Her hand shot out, aimed at that familiar, furious face. But instead of a slap, her fingers curled around a pointed chin, pulling Kirika's slender frame hard against hers. Mirelle kissed her hungrily, almost a little desperately, heart thundering and intoxicated with the feel of the younger woman's lips. It wasn't fair that anyone else would ever touch this gorgeous skin, this wonderful body. Kirika was _hers_! Hers, not some idiot from an art store that had no idea how beautiful and complex she really was. "Mine." She breathed, unable to manage a full sentence._

"_Mmmm." Kirika half-moaned in agreement, her voice trailing to a soft whimper as Mirelle sucked at her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth and teasing it with her tongue. The blonde wrapped her arms around the smaller girl's waist, pressing them tighter together. It felt so right, so very good – _

Mirelle's eyes fluttered, breath hitching in her chest as the fantasy flashed in her mind. It took quite a few minutes for her brain to put together a coherent denial. _I – I would never – I wouldn't kiss Kirika! That's insane!_

Her subconscious sighed. _Dense, opinionated, emotionally-stunted idiot. You wouldn't put up with this shit from anyone else, but you sure overlook it when it's your own faults._

With a growl, the blonde Corsican slumped onto her back, lying across the couch and throwing one arm over her eyes. This was all so messed up – Kirika, her feelings, Mirelle's own conflicted feelings. It completely, utterly sucked.

Quiet filled the room, a silence that was more uncomfortable than it should have been. For a few heartbeats, her pulse was all she heard. Then, softly, a familiar chiming noise began ringing through the air. _Ching, ching ching ching. _

Mirelle stayed motionless, forearm still pressed to her eyes. She didn't want to answer the damned cell phone. Hell, she didn't even want to move. The world could just go the hell away for all she cared.

But if it was Kirika calling –

With a glower, the blonde sat up and reached for her cell, not even bothering to look at the front screen before flipping it open. Her greeting came tired and pained. "Hello?"

"What the _fuck_ did you do to warrant a hitman?" Andre's slightly panicked voice in her ear was loud enough to deafen her. Mirelle blinked, angst retreating a bit in confusion. "Andre?"

"Who the hell do you think it is!" The detective demanded. "Never mind, I don't want to know. I really don't want to know. What the hell did you do?"

Surprised in a dull sort of way, Mirelle decided not to point out he'd just contradicted himself. Andre very rarely cursed; anything that had him this worked up was probably important. "Calm down, Andre. What hitman are you talking about?"

She could hear Andre give a low growl on the other end of the line, his teeth grinding together before he managed a deep breath to calm himself. "I just got a bit more intel on the criminal group Garrison's gotten involved with. They're bad news, Mirelle, and the rumor is that they've got some big plans for you and Kirika. One of their people is already here in Paris. Are you hearing me?"

"I get it." Mirelle sighed. The last thing she even wanted to _think_ about right now was Garrison and his idiocy. Still, it was – sweet, she guessed, that Andre cared enough to warn them. "Thanks for the warning."

"We've actually got a picture. I'm e-mailing it to you now." The detective spoke low and tense, clicking in the background indicating his swift typing. Mirelle rolled her eyes in spite of herself, wishing she hadn't picked up at all. "This kid's supposed to be bad news. Smuggling, robbery, armed robbery, assault – a full sheet, as the Americans say."

The laptop beeped, and Mirelle sighed, standing and moving in front of the monitor. Sure enough, her mail icon was blinking. Rolling the mouse, she double-clicked the envelope image, waiting patiently for the picture to load. "There's even some unproven extortion and murder charges. I still don't know how the New York cops got this shot – "

Mirelle didn't answer, glancing up as the color snapshot finally flashed onto the screen. The cell phone slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers, falling to the floor with a clattering thump. Andre's voice, distant and strained, blared questioningly from the small earpiece. "Mirelle? Mirelle, are you listening to me? Are you still there? Mirelle!"

The blonde Corsican didn't make a move to retrieve it, body frozen in shock and stunned, creeping horror. Sapphire eyes stared unblinking at the image before her. She knew that lean frame, that brown hair and wood green eyes. And that face, especially that aristocratic face. She'd seen it only an hour before, tilted down to look at Kirika after the soft kiss that had started this mess. "Alexander." She breathed, the name like a low rush of fire. Her heart smoldered, embers fanning with the beginnings of all-consuming rage.

Alexander – this was all his fault. He was a murderer, another assassin, a killer. And now Kirika was out there somewhere with him.

As if on cue, the house phone rang shrilly. Smooth and strangely calm, Mirelle reached out and lifted the cordless handset to her ear. "Hello."

A younger male voice spoke, only three short sentences. "Barns and Royal Warehouses in two hours. We have her. Don't be late."

The other end of the line disconnected, and Mirelle pushed the end button with her thumb, then carefully set it back in the cradle. Andre was still speaking, yelling really, but it didn't matter. It was far away, not part of her reality anymore. Her eyes burned, sapphire flames lit from within. They had Kirika. They had taken what was hers.

They were all dead. Every last one of them.

* * *

_And THIS is why no one should like Alexander. Asshat. (smirk) Though trust me when I say everyone will like him even less in the next chapter._

_Another sidenote: The 'memory' Mirelle has of her family's death and Kirika's coming into possession of the pocketwatch is taken from the doujinshi. Yeah, I know, I swore I wouldn't mix the two, but it's such an awesome memory I wanted to include it anyway._

_Oh! I wanted to ask my happy fans- when the doujinshi comes out, would you guys read it? Still far off, but I was wondering, since there's sadly no romance in it. xD R&R, pretty please, and now I'm off to bed._


	10. The Second Sapling Reborn

_Dear gawd, this took FOREVER. So sorry you guys had to wait this long. Aside from RL driving me crazy, my brain kept gleefully squealing "Alex is a DEAD MAN!" Which made it kind of hard to write anything beyond that. xD Though happily, this chapter is double-sized, with full blown Mirelle ass-kicking goodness, a showdown, plot revelations and a whole bunch of other fun. Next up, probably finishing and posting Gunglint, if only because it won't get out of my head. And at least part of the other SVU story, so that'll go away. xD_

_MV: (smirk) Who said Kirika was going to be handling anything? I'm an equal-opportunity jerk. This is Mirelle's turn to get hammered by Alex's brutal charm. And then to hammer on him. (glee)_

_Lightforsakennight: Yay for doujinshi people! (laughs) It's almost more angsty than this story, though without most of the romantic emotional problems. Maybe somewhere in the end._

_Conan10: Sorry about not updating as soon as I wanted - will a double-sized chapter make up for it? xD_

_I'mnothingbutadream: Not sure exactly how long pagewise, but there's Mirelle getting Kirika back, then a fairly large hunk of angsty-sweetness, then the final showdown with the guy who hired Alex - so not too long, I don't think._

_Hanyou: Righteous? (smirk) Well, it's certainly going to be a rampage. xD_

_Strangeone27: HA! Yes, I love writing Mirelle's inner voice too. She's so sarcastic all the time, I figured she's got to be just as judgemental of herself inside. And it's okay, Alex will get what's coming to him this chapter._

_Lurk-a-lot: ONE of the villians, anyway. (shifty eyes)_

_Jcole: Right on the money, as usual. _

_Haru-chan: (pat) Two words, hon. Online manga. The doujinshi will be released on the website, free. Though Germany, eh? I may have to message you later. (plotting)_

_Breaktherules: Your imagination's no slouch from what I've seen! prods Yooou should write more fiction. So I can glee over it. xD_

_Feifiefofum: xDDDDDDDD XP (smirk)_

_

* * *

_

**The Second Noir Reborn**

"And he actually told her Breffort's little bitch was his _cousin_?"

Kirika managed – barely – to hold back a pained groan, her assassin's instincts keeping her silent while her body screamed its agony. She'd come to a few minutes before as a couple of thugs hauled her out of some kind of vehicle. Judging by the sound of the tires crunching, she was fairly sure it was a van on some kind of stone-laid driveway. Not that she could open her eyes to see; at the moment, even breathing was a painful chore, and her head felt like it was splitting down the middle. Apparently, whatever they'd given her was designed to make sure she was docile and easy to handle. Which mean no more than half conscious, limbs twitching and weak as a newborn kitten.

"Yup." This one's voice had a British accent. He was the one who'd grabbed her from the van, his muscle-bound arms slinging her up and across his broad, rock-solid shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Pain like jagged glass exploded through Kirika, her head dangling down his back to throb in time with her pulse, and she couldn't help the small, agonized gasp that escaped her lips. Luckily, the man didn't seem to notice, striding along as he continued his conversation. "Guess she saw him with her, but she didn't know who this one was." He added a shake of the young woman's prone form for emphasis. Kirika wondered if she was going to throw up. She was fairly certain that would cause problems with her pretending to be unconscious. "Thought this was gonna be just another notch in his belt."

"Too bad for them." His partner cackled. Working to keep her breathing slow and even, Kirika felt a fresh stab of anguish to her heart. So Lisa wasn't Alexander's cousin after all. Not that she should have been shocked, he had lied about everything else. No, her pain was more because she'd been taken so easily. But of course, Alex was a master manipulator. He'd used the blonde girl as a prop, just like his moped. An excuse for him to have a helmet in her size and a way to make her more at ease. Breffort's little bitch – she wondered dimly if that meant Lisa was related to Remy Breffort. Her mind was going hazy again, thoughts going dull and unclear. She almost felt sorry for the poor girl. If she ever learned she could have stopped this and didn't, she might feel a bit guilty.

A burst of laughter drew the remains of her attention back to the conversation, but they weren't really speaking, just making fun at her and Lisa's expense. They'd entered a house or building of some kind; she could feel the shadows falling over her, the air cooler here than in the direct heat of the sun. Judging by the slant of the sunlight, it seemed to be a few hours later, the beginnings of sundown. Evening. Darkness. How could she escape in darkness, torn up like this? How would Mirelle –

No. She couldn't think of Mirelle, not now. Her eyes stung suspiciously, giving a lie to her stoic attitude. It made her heart hurt to even think of the blonde Corsican. She just prayed Mirelle didn't think any of this was her fault. Even if Mirelle hated her now, the blonde might still feel guilty, and Kirika couldn't stand the thought of Mirelle blaming herself.

While her mind had been slowly threading through her emotions, they'd somehow ended up in a large room, steps echoing. She could hear several voices, more than a dozen, a chaos of sounds that made her tenuous grip on consciousness fray even further. Dimly, Kirika could feel her body being tossed down, a thick hand grabbing at her wrists and hauling her upright again. Her wrists were being tied, she was hanging –

The sudden ups and downs were too much for her. Kirika's thoughts faded away once more, falling into the dark place where there was nothing and nothing could hurt her.

* * *

The warehouse district was deserted in the golden red light, cold and almost threatening. Mirelle pulled up slowly, the dark green four-door she'd just purchased rumbling like a leashed beast. It suited her mood almost perfectly. Parking smoothly by the curb, she shut the engine off and slipped from the air-conditioned interior, thumbing the electronic lock before stuffing the keys in the pocket of her jacket.

Two hours had been just enough time to change clothes, pack herself some firepower and buy the souped-up car. Taking a taxi was out of the question. They'd need to be mobile to get out of here, and she didn't want to bring any innocents into this potential firefight. Although she'd have preferred to purchase a motorcycle, circumstances dictated that a real automobile was the more intelligent way to go. There was no way to know what Kirika's injuries might be, or even if she was conscious. A car would give her a place to lay her wounded partner down if she needed it, space for first-aid supplies, and it would probably protect both of them from any stray bullets better than a bike.

Of course, in keeping with the rest of Mirelle's usual gear, the auto was both stylish and deadly. Painted in dark green, its body had been upgraded – siding and glass – with bulletproofing, while the tires were reinforced to prevent them being shot out easily. The interior was brown leather, the gears automatic, while the engine had been tinkered with to near street-racer caliber. It had cost quite a bit of money, but Mirelle couldn't really have cared less. If she and Kirika were going to use it, the thing had damned well better be good enough for them.

Tossing her hair back over one shoulder, Mirelle shifted her black leather jacket to a more comfortable position, sapphire gaze scanning the deserted area coolly. She felt strange, distant, as though whatever was happening was far removed from herself. As though her brain had been wrapped in layers of cotton, keeping her insulated against everything around her. But there was a faint, hidden sharpness buried in those hazy clouds, a glint of jagged danger waiting to be called into life.

Mirelle strode across the parking lot, a small leather backpack hanging off one shoulder. The outfit she'd chosen was her favorite; black leather skirt, black leather belt, dark red sleeveless shirt, and knee-high black leather boots. Her coat, bag and shoulder rig matched perfectly as well. The Walter was tucked inside its holster, while four or five extra clips were tucked in the backpack itself. She didn't expect to keep any of it long – these bastards were well-trained and organized, if nothing else – but she refused to go into the situation unarmed.

_Kirika, Kirika, Kirika – _her partner's name repeated over and over again in her head, a mantra that pulsed in time with her sharp footsteps as she turned the corner to a wide, box-strewn alley between the two massive warehouses. The younger woman's face hovered like a vision just behind her eyes, shifting between the small smile Mirelle so treasured and the torn, destroyed look she'd worn before running from the apartment. Mirelle's lips thinned. _I'll save you, Kirika. I swear._

"Wow, someone doesn't look too happy." The young man's voice she already loathed came from the other end of the alley. Alexander stood leaning against a large metal shipping container, his arms folded and an unbearable smirk coming over his lips. As though his presence were a cue – and for all she knew, it was – the shapes of more than a dozen thugs materialized in the early evening shadows, a semi-circle of menacing silhouettes all cocking automatic handguns in her direction. For a moment, Mirelle debated pulling the Walter and taking her chances to put a bullet through his smug face. It would be so easy –

"I wouldn't do it." Alex smiled easily. "If I don't report within the next two hours, Kirika will be out of the country by nightfall, if not simply dead. And it won't do any good torturing us for the information, either – I have no idea where she is, and neither do any of my men."

_Bastard._ Mirelle's teeth gritted. She knew Alexander was telling the truth; it made sense, just like the rest of this well-designed plan. He had to make sure anyone that came to meet her didn't simply get killed. It was a calculated risk, but an intelligent one. Seeing her realize her position, the young man smirked. "Sorry to call you out," Alex continued, not sounding very sorry at all, "but you know the drill. Gun and ammo, lose them."

Mirelle lifted her hands, palm out, then carefully slid the miniature backpack from her shoulder and swinging it away from her. The bag landed with a muffled _thump_ several feet away, its cargo of clips clicking faintly. Reaching slowly into her jacket, she withdrew the Walter and dropped the clip from it, then tossed it away, too. That done, she returned her hands to their earlier position and waited, the picture of casual patience. This was early in the game – she would have all the time in the world to play soccer with his head. "I suppose you'll want to search me now, too?"

"You read my mind." Alexander flashed her a look of mock surprise, eyes widening for a moment before he smirked again. "Though I'll let Aaron do the honors. Aaron?"

One of the thugs on her left came forward, eying her cautiously. Mirelle stood still and calm as he patted her down. She'd thought briefly about bringing some of her other firearms; the Firestar was small enough to go in her boot, and she had the holster for it, after all. Not to mention the throwing knives she'd taken to learning with. But she'd known she would be checked, and it might get Kirika hurt if they thought she wasn't abiding by their orders. No, for this, she would have to play by the rules.

The thorough search didn't take very long, and a few moments later, the brute stepped back, nodding once to Alexander. Mirelle clamped down on an urge to throttle the insolent bastard as he sauntered closer, ignoring the rest of the goons that melted farther into the background. It wasn't necessarily a bad move. They weren't going to interfere, at least not right now, but they were thugs; by their very nature, they weren't going to do anything without orders. They were still near enough to put a bullet in her brain if she decided to go after any of them, of course. Mirelle kept her attention on Alex, raising a mocking eyebrow. "Are we done with this song and dance yet?" She inquired, voice full of scorn. "Or do you need me to strip too?"

Alexander's smirk grew, eyes twinkling coldly. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy it, but I don't think it'll be necessary. You came just the way we expected."

"I'm so glad I'm predictable." Mirelle shot back. Lowering her arms, she fixed her turned-out pockets, doing her best to keep her professional mask in place. It was all she could do to keep the scowl from her lips. _This absolute sonofa –_

She paused, her mental rant halted before it really began, as Alex burst into laughter. "Of course you're predictable. How do you think I got Kirika to come with me willingly?"

Mirelle blinked, rage darting through her like a tongue of purest flame. "What?" The hostile word came out before she could stop it. What the hell did he mean?

"Oh, come on." Alexander kept chuckling, his handsome face full of cruel amusement. "She's an incredibly intelligent person, and extremely perceptive besides." His eyes flicked to the blonde Corsican with a taunting gleam. "Without your help, I could never have snatched her. At least, not without losing a few dozen men and causing quite a stir."

"I would never help you hurt Kirika!" Mirelle snarled, unable to keep herself silent at the barbed comments. His mocking voice cut straight through her mental cloud, stirring it in the beginnings of a fierce storm. She glared, pulse pounding as Alex laughed again and shook his head.

"Of course you did. You reacted just like I knew you would." He sounded so unbearably smug, Mirelle longed to pummel him to paste. A bullet through his head was too good – he deserved to _suffer_ for taking her Kirika. Once again, the primal scream tore straight through her. _He hurt **mine**. Mineminemineminemine. She's mine, and he hurt her!_

"Oh, I haven't hurt her." Alexander's dark smirk again caught her off-guard. For a moment, she thought she might have actually said that last bit out loud before she realized the emotion was probably written on her face. "Derrick got a little rough with her to get your number, and the drugs aren't any fun, but she's still alive and mostly sound."

Drugs – the word set more fury to smoldering in her chest. The indifference was burning away rapidly, leaving her feeling strange and slightly dizzy. She had known they would probably drug Kirika, that they'd have to drug the younger woman to keep hold of her, but hearing it still made her body pulse with rage. Her throat was tight, painful, voice a low growl. "You drugged her?"

Alex rested his weight on his back foot and folded his arms over his chest, still laughing quietly. Wicked pleasure glowed beneath his casual façade. Throwing Mirelle off-balance was probably dangerous, but it was ever so much fun. "It was rather required." He commented, lips twitching. "How else was I ever going to get her to agree to my little kissing scheme? Not that she minded the attention."

Pay dirt, he thought in amusement, watching the Corsican's lips tighten and her eyes flash. She was so very easy to manipulate. Just as easy as Kirika, in her own way. "She would have known if you used the usual types of drugs." The words came tight and strained, part question and part statement. Alexander nodded cheerfully. "It's a special new mix my Master's been refining. Similar to alcohol intoxication – mostly an inhibitation blocker, with a few special modifications. Seems to cause an excess of emotional outbursts. The second one came later. It'll keep her under for a few hours while we have our little chat."

_Oh, Kirika._ Mirelle's heart contracted, despair making her fury helpless. _He gave you things, he put things in your body, and I didn't even notice. How stupid am I?_ She wanted to scream in rage, to tear him apart at the seams –

_No!_ Practical training intruded, though she knew the young man saw her hands twitch. _Find out what he wants. You can kill him once you know what this was planned for._

"So what do you want?" An undercurrent of snarling anger growled beneath the question, and Alex smiled smugly. "Patience is a virtue, miss Mirelle. So is common courtesy, I believe."

Mirelle just glared at him.

"Fine, fine, if you insist on getting down to business." With a mock-sigh, Alexander shook his head again before fixing her with a serious gaze. "My Master knows of your skills as Noir, and he's decided that he requires your services. As long as you complete the jobs I give you, Kirika will stay unharmed. If you make a mistake or get caught – " He shrugged. "We'll wash our hands of the whole thing."

And Kirika dies. The words were unspoken, but Mirelle could hear them just fine. Her heart thudded painfully. Forget dizzy – she was starting to feel like the entire world was spinning just out of sight. Something was shifting in her head, everything shading distant and shadowed. Somehow, her words came out sounding completely natural, only laced with the fury prickling through her veins. "Noir is a name for two. Kirika and I work together."

Alex nodded once, slowly, as though he had expected the comment. "Yes, but both of you have worked alone when the situation requires it. It's possible." He seemed offhand, abominably casual. "You're actually quite interchangeable, when you get right down to it. Both of you are incredibly trained, more than capable, the very best in your field. Kirika just doesn't quite have the – social skills, I suppose you'd call it. She doesn't do as well with situations that require working with people."

"So that – " Mirelle breathed, eyes widening in shock. The revelation was surprising enough to pause whatever was going on in her mind. That was why he'd taken Kirika instead of her? Because she could do better with people?

Seeing the expression on her face, Alexander's Cheshire Cat grin widened, gaze twinkling once more. "Of course. Master needs someone who can get close to their targets in a public setting without raising suspicion. Though I must admit, your current situation with Kirika made everything much easier. Still, we want to make sure this is done right, especially the first targets. They're a bit – delicate, and you have unique in with them."

"Delicate?" Mirelle repeated, faintly questioning. The world was still spinning, and now her legs and fingertips were tingling. Vaguely, she wondered if she was having a stroke. What the hell was wrong with her?

Alex's features flickered with an ugly flare of satisfaction. "You know them better than most people. Remy Breffort and his niece, Lisa Breffort."

_Breffort?_ She couldn't help but be stunned. That someone wanted her personal pain in the ass dead wasn't surprising, considering the world they both dealt in. Still, to get someone like Noir to kill both Remy and Lisa, this had to be big. The earlier conversation with the silver-haired Soldat flashed through her slowly-splintering thoughts. "So your Master is another bastard Councilman?"

"My Master is a great man!" Alexander's voice was sharper than usual, his eyes flashing with anger. Pale satisfaction touched Mirelle; apparently, she'd scratched a nerve. The emotion must have been visible on her face, because the glare Alex turned on her could have peeled paint. "If it helps to ease your conscience any, Lisa deserves your rage. She saw me the day I went after Kirika for the first time. Thought your partner was another of my conquests." He snorted a vicious laugh. "Not that I would mind having a try at her. With you turning her down like you did, she'd probably be grateful for some attention."

Mirelle's heart stopped for a moment, every part of her frozen. He couldn't – he wouldn't – Kirika couldn't – what the hell was he talking about, turned her down?

From the expression on his features, Alexander knew he'd gotten to her. Still slightly stiff, he forced himself to relax backward, almost a slouch. His voice was casually cruel. "Oh, come on. You did exactly what I knew you would. Poor Kirika loves you so much, but you're too much of a coward to admit you love her."

"Shut up." Mirelle whispered. Her throat was tight, muscles trembling beneath her skin and thoughts reeling. Everything in her body seemed to be rebelling, mind poised on the edge of some dark, unknown chasm. It was the oddest feeling – as though she'd been to the entrance of this shadowed place before, but never entered until now. She would have sworn she could taste metal on her tongue, smell the lingering echoes of cordite and gunpowder in the air. Something was rising inside her, taking over –

Alex didn't notice, his smirk turning into a low, full-blown laugh. "Does it hurt to hear the truth? You were too afraid to tell her you loved her, so you hit her. Slapped the one person that cares about you more than anything else in the world, and did it hard enough to make her cry." He shook his head, laughing again deliberately. "I should have taken advantage of her earlier. Bet I could have gotten at least one good rebound fuck before the Master needed her."

His words were a razor-sharp spike driven through her very core. Her thoughts shattered into sparkling, crystalline fragments; her body jerked once, then went absolutely still, hardly even breathing. The world had shifted, twisted into distant shades beyond anything a normal person could ever comprehend. But that was okay. Her head bowed, eyes shadowed, welcoming the darkness into her.

That was okay, because she wasn't normal.

She was Noir.

* * *

"You didn't touch her."

It was her voice that first alerted Alexander that something was very, very wrong. Leaning back, his arms folded across his chest, the young man paused to stare searchingly at the tall blonde Corsican before him. She stood motionless a few dozen feet away, head down, arms loose at her sides, only the soft rise and fall of her chest indicating that she was alive. If he hadn't known for a fact that she was the only female within four blocks, he would have doubted the words were even hers.

It wasn't the fact that she made it a statement rather than a question that sent his internal alarms on high alert. He'd expected that, actually; Mirelle may have been many things – brash, intense, confident bordering on arrogant – but she knew her partner, and she knew Kirika would never have sex with him willingly. And it wasn't the tight, leashed rage he knew was smoldering somewhere beneath the words. He'd expected to hear something like it, had been hearing and seeing something like it since Mirelle had appeared at the mouth of the alleyway. That had been the point of putting her off balance, after all. Aside from being a dangerous thrill for him, rattling the blonde made it harder for her to focus on a decent defense or counterattack of her own.

No, it was the flat, measured calm of her statement that sent a flare of fear through him. There was no real emotion at all in the words, nothing more than the bare facts. Her stance had somehow become easy and assured, shoulders back and breath soft, different than the young woman who'd stood there only seconds before. It was as though all the vibrant light that made Mirelle so alive had simply disappeared.

_No, not disappeared. Shoved aside._ Alex frowned, pulse picking up just slightly. The bright light was gone, but there was something else in its place, a dark coil of smooth, ready tension that was almost superhuman in its intensity. She looked regal, feral, a shadow given substance for the moment. There was something oddly familiar about it all, like a picture he couldn't quite place.

"Awwww, you don't believe me? I'm hurt." He spoke sarcastically to cover the sudden flash of nervousness, his voice biting. She wanted to unbalance _him_? Fine, then. He'd stop pulling his punches. "She's so _sweet_ and _soft_ – and with those muscles, I bet she's a wonderful lay. Though you wouldn't know about that, would you?"

There was no response, not even the twitch of her pale, elegant hands he was so looking forward to. Mirelle seemed to simply be waiting for whatever random nonsense he felt like spouting to end, calm as if she had all the time in the world. Anger made Alexander's jaw tight. What the hell had happened? Where was the fire, the fierce flare he'd seen when he studied her for these last few weeks? Mirelle Bouquet wore her sharper emotions on her sleeve – except this time, she wasn't. He didn't understand –

And then she lifted her head, and he saw her eyes for the first time, and he understood just where he'd seen that attitude before.

_Oh, my God._ They were _the_ eyes, the eyes he'd seen in pictures of Altena's bitch Chloe and a few brief shots of Kirika at her most deadly. For a moment, Alex's mind flashed back to the moment he and his Master had first put together the plan, to the rush of gratitude he felt that he would be kidnapping Kirika. If he was forced to deal with one of them as an assassin and unwilling ally, he would rather it be the blonde Corsican. Of the two, she was safer – the superhuman abilities that were showcased in those terrifyingly intense eyes had always been absent in Mirelle. She wasn't as strong, didn't have the darkness and death in her blood.

Except apparently she did, and now that very same type of eyes were staring back at him, merciless blue orbs flat and cold as a sheet of glacial ice. With her head held high, golden tresses highlighted a bloody crimson in the setting sun, she looked positively inhuman. An immortal death goddess come to take vengeance on those who had done her wrong. Even the air around her was wound tight, crackling with purpose and intent. She was unarmed – at least for the moment – but she needed no weapon. Her very body was enough.

A rush of horror and terror made Alexander take a step backward, shocked into an instinctive prey-like jerk at the predatory knowledge in those eyes. His arms unfolded on their own, half rising with the palms held out as though to ward off the inevitable blow; his mouth opened, ready to order his men to open fire, shoot her, shoot her now –

The gasped words never got past his half-parted lips. Mirelle was suddenly in motion, her movements so swift and fluid Alex could hardly track them. Her left hand had hold of the barrel of the gun on that side, jerking it farther away from her while her boot heel shattered the knee of its owner. _Eric,_ Alexander remembered distractedly. A split-second later, her right hand had jammed the cartilage of Eric's nose into his brain, and the body dropped lifelessly to the pavement as she darted forward. It had all taken less time than an eyeblink. Alex saw her scoop up the unloaded Walter from the ground and turn in a smooth spin, fist whipping out to crush the throat of the still shocked thug across the circle – Franz, he realized in some far corner of his brain. She had just killed Franz, and used his gun to shoot Jean-Michael when the other man recovered enough to lunge the few feet towards her. Her leg moved forward, toe stomping on just the right spot, and the fallen clip flipped upward end over end to land with a smack in her waiting palm. Another flash of movement, and Dante's body joined his comrades on the ground while Mirelle reloaded and racked her weapon back with practiced ease.

Alexander took another step away, then a third and a fourth, hearing the zinging whine of automatic bullets all around him as the men he'd stationed on the warehouse rooftops joined in the fray. Mirelle dodged the half-stunned shots easily, several more men on the ground falling prey to their own comrades as she got them to hit each other. A rapid flurry of gunfire from her swift-moving form took only a few more minutes to silence the sentry snipers. Alex yanked his own Glock .9 from his waistband, startled to see his hands were shaking. She had made short work of twenty-four of the twenty-six men he'd brought with him. It was insanity. How could anyone do such a thing?

The sudden bang of another blast came as he flicked the safety off his piece. His hand rose, and another shot sounded. Alexander blinked, numb and shocked, his gun spinning away across the alley while blood blossomed from his fingers. Pain shot to his brain and jangled there. She had shot through his hand. From more than a dozen feet away, turning away from the man she'd just killed, all in the space of ten seconds. It was impossible!

Alex gasped for air and jerked to the other side, eyes finding one of the many automatics scattered across the pavement. His body dove for it, unwounded arm outstretched. He was fast.

This time, he heard the bark of the Walter at the same moment his knee exploded in agony, dumping him unceremoniously to the dirty cement since his leg could no longer support him. The same distant part of him that had named his men as they died noted the absolute perfection of her aim; the bullet had gone straight through his kneecap. Desperately, he kept reaching for the weapon. If only he could touch it, grab it –

His wrist shattered with a third expertly-placed shot, and Alex's heaving, ragged breaths became a shuddering, tortured moan, body curling in to cradle his now useless arm. Blood oozed – no, poured from his wounds, spreading on the ground around him. His mind was a haze of agonized, creeping horror.

A lean shadow fell over him, and Alexander looked up to see Mirelle backlit by the crimson sun, her eyes still that terrifying darkness. He tried to leer at her, to smirk, something that would get a reaction.

She was completely expressionless as her foot impacted with his face, splitting both lips, cracking teeth and pulping his nose. Alex's head rocked back, gagging and choking on his own blood. Another kick, and a new wound opened on his forehead, spilling more scarlet liquid into his rapidly-swelling eye. A third strike cracked something in his ribs, leaving him even more breathless. After a few moments of hacking and gasping, his blurred gaze rolled upward, focusing with difficulty on her impassive features. "You're – a bitch." He wheezed, coughing up more blood.

Without so much as a twitch or flick of her eyes, Mirelle brought her heel down again, this time grinding his wounded hand flat against the ground. Alexander tried to scream, the noise little more than a loud gurgle of blood. Instinctively, he tugged his arm, trying to free his injured palm from the pain and howling-gargling in renewed agony as the movement tore his bullet wound further. "You won't get to her from me." His voice was a hoarse rasp. "I don't know where she is. You'll never find her."

Mirelle bent slightly, enough that she could look him full in the face, and Alex saw the fierce anger and determination raging beneath the flat coldness. "I will tear this city apart brick by brick, burn it to the ground if I have to."

Her voice, her narrowed eyes were death itself. "We are Noir. She is mine, and I will find her."

Her gun shifted to point at his head. Staring up at into that terrifying gaze, Alex had one second of complete epiphany. No one had ever seen Mirelle as the True Noir, and so considered the blonde Corsican as the weaker of the partners. But no one had ever threatened anything she would not give up. Even trying to take her life was expected in her work. A strange, twitching smile, inane as it was, touched his split lips. He had finally found the line in Mirelle which could not be crossed.

One did not mess with her woman.

The Walter barked once more, and Alexander rolled onto his back, a neat hole through the center of his forehead. Mirelle stood silent and motionless for a moment, staring down at his battered body, those wide open eyes. Then, without even a shrug, she turned away.

She wouldn't bother to close his eyes. She didn't care that much.

* * *

**Meanwhile:**

_Please, God, let us find them._

Lisa Breffort fidgeted for the possibly the millionth time, jeans sliding with a whispered hush across the leather of her uncle's limo as she scanned the streets. She was not prone to praying – her Soldats training and the odd church service aside – but as the massive car hummed along, the blonde young woman found the plea whispering through her thoughts like a mantra. They had to find Mirelle and Kirika, they just had to.

_Kirika_ – a flare of shame smeared through her, guilt battling with her worry. It was her fault Alexander had managed to get close to the younger Noir, her fault that Kirika hadn't been put on her guard in the very beginning. If either of the women died, the blame would be hers. She should have realized what he was planning.

If only she had realized it sooner –

* * *

_She and Alexander were walking away from the art store, his arm casually around her waist. Lisa waited until they were far enough down away from the shop to be out of sight before pushing him off. "She's not looking at us anymore, you can get off." Turning, she glared at him, arms folded in annoyance. "So what, is she another notch in your belt?"_

_Alex smirked, amused. "Something like that." Leaning back, he appeared completely at ease, which irritated Lisa to no end. She'd hated that about him ever since they were children, his ability to act like nothing in the world could bother him. Of course, he'd pissed her off and driven her crazy since they were eight – it wasn't as though the years had changed him any. His voice was calm, thoughtful. "So that's what's bothering you. Poor baby. I thought you were living in England."_

"_America. I came home two weeks ago." She scowled as he grinned. "You don't have to act so pleased. I came to help Uncle, not to see you. You're an unpleasant bonus."_

"_And you dragged me away from a nice, stimulating conversation because - " His voice trailed off, one eyebrow raised, and Lisa longed to kick him. "Because she's too good for you." She retorted, still frowning. From what she'd managed to see of the young woman, the girl was shy, beautiful and sweet – everything Alexander loved to sully, and everything Lisa would do her best to keep out of his hands._

_Alex burst into laughter, and Lisa socked him in the arm. Still chortling, he held up his hands, palm out. "Awwww, how sweet! You want to keep the innocent away from the big bad Alex, huh?"_

"_You're an ass." Lisa glared, knowing it wouldn't do a damned bit of good. If Alexander had set his sights on the young woman, she wasn't going to be able to stop him. Not short of hiring a hit, anyway, and in spite of her hatred, she wouldn't be starting an inter-organizational war because the brunette young man was a jerk. Her upper lip curled viciously, and she spun around, stalking off and ignoring his smirking chuckles. That self-smug, piece of shit, pain in the ass bastard – _

* * *

_She'd seen them a few days later, sitting on the bank near a small boutique mall, sketchbooks spread out on the grass and chattering eagerly. It was just like him, she thought angrily. Artist, his ass – he'd gone through two years of art school long ago, but his pictures were all technical, no heart and no soul. Hell, he had only _gone_ to the school in the first place because his 'Master' wanted to keep tabs on her as Remy Breffort's niece. It pissed her off to no end that he could sit there and pretend to know anything about art. Still, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the young woman seated so unknowing beside him. He would break her heart for sure._

* * *

"_Uncle, you should at least have some tea."_

_She pushed open the door to her Uncle's "war room," the massive wood-paneled study that had been designed for intelligence gathering and situations just like this. A large, dark wood table took up most of the center of the room, comfortable leather chairs arranged around it while smaller countertops and banks of computer equipment lined the walls. On the far wall, a giant television-style screen was connected to the projector hanging bolted from the ceiling. Her Uncle had been working in here for most of the day, taking only enough time to meet with Mirelle. The last of his men had left a few hours before, but as usual, Lisa knew he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since then. Typical Uncle. Slipping the tray of tea things onto the table beside her uncle, she shook her head wryly, glanced up at the images with interest._

_And promptly felt the floor drop out from under her, the world freezing to a shocked, razor-sharp point._

"_Lisa?" Uncle turned, his brow creased with concern, standing as she tripped slightly over a chair and grabbed shakily for the arm rest. Lisa couldn't answer, staring riveted at the two headshots situated on the screen. One she recognized as Mirelle Bouquet, smiling in the warm sunlight, her golden hair spilling down her back and sapphire gaze turned to something outside the picture's borders. And the second? The same sweet, dark-haired Asian young woman she'd seen with Alexander, turning to look over her shoulder with a soft smile. There was no mistaking those incredible eyes. Lisa sank into the chair she'd grasped, pulse pounding, gaze never leaving the picture. "Uncle, who – who is that?"_

"_Who – oh." Still puzzled, her uncle took her hand, stroking it gently. "I had forgotten, you've never seen her. That's Kirika Yuumura, Mirelle's partner."_

"_The other half of Noir." Lisa spoke numbly, overwhelmed. Of course – Kirika was a Japanese name, but it hadn't registered that this girl might be Japanese. There were so many other possibilities . . . _

_. . . no, she thought, remembering Alex's smirk. There was no other possibility. She should have known._

"_Alexander." She said softly, seeing her uncle start in shock. He knew Alexander – after all, the young man had grown up with her and several other of the high-ranking Soldats' children. "Alexander is here in Paris, and I've seen him with her. If he has Kirika, Mirelle – she would do anything he asked."_

_Remy Breffort swore under his breath, snatching up his cell phone from the table and hurriedly punching in numbers. The phone on the other end rang for a few minutes without anyone picking up, and the Soldats High Councilman cursed again. "There's no answer." A low hum of a call interrupting cut through the taut air. Breffort thumbed another button, bringing the cell back to his ear. "Yes?"_

_Listening for a few seconds, he gave a soft, violent exclamation. "Keep looking. We need the limo brought around front. That little bastard was working on them right under our noses."_

_He dropped the phone into his pocket and hurried for the door. "Come, Lisa, quickly."_

"_Uncle?" She leapt up automatically, falling into step just behind him. Outside the door, she could hear the limo's engine already revving up._

"_Mirelle's left the flat and gone to purchase a car." Breffort motioned, and Anderson leapt to open the manor's front door before taking up a position at Lisa's side. "Some of the extra troops have been on the move as well. It's likely Alexander's arranged a meet."_

"_We have to find them, now."_

* * *

More than an hour later, the limo was still cruising through the warehouse district, one of Alex's favorite old haunts. Lisa wondered if they'd run out of prayers. No one had seen Mirelle or her new car, and there hadn't been any reports of firefights breaking out or dead bodies popping up. With a sharp sigh, she glared out the window once more. This was ridiculous –

"Driver, stop!" Her uncle's voice suddenly broke through her dark reverie, and the limo nearly stood on its grill as the driver slammed on the brakes. Lisa's head whipped around, momentarily too surprised to brace for impact; by the time she had stopped bouncing across the back seat, Remy Breffort was already out of the car, door left open as he limped-ran toward whatever it was he had seen. Lisa took off after her uncle, sneakers thudding as she tried to keep up. Closer, she could make out what he had seen. The distinctive muzzle flash of a single semi-automatic pistol. A Walter PPK, to be exact.

Mirelle's trademark weapon.

A few minutes more, and she skidded to a stop several steps behind her uncle, awed at the carnage littering the alleyway. Counting the bodies slung over the warehouse rooftops, there were at least twenty-six dead, maybe more. It looked as though they had all died within moments of each other, some before they could even get off a single shot.

And standing in the center of the ravaged masses? A tall, lean form in black leather and crimson velvet, pale skin and golden tresses highlighted bloodily against the bloody sun. The Walter held in one hand, a clip in the other as the owner reloaded her weapon with brisk efficiency. For a moment, both Soldats froze, unable to move. Lisa was shocked. _This_ was Mirelle? The young woman she'd argued with and teased only hours ago?

"Mirelle?" Her uncle's voice was low, hesitant, almost unsure for the first time in Lisa's memory. The goddess-like figure turned slightly, her face now visible, and Lisa gasped. Those _eyes_. There was nothing human in those brilliant sapphires – or perhaps, _too_ human. Even as she looked at the young woman before her, Lisa had no way to describe the awesome, terrifying power radiating from that gaze. It was regal and yet primal, almost feral, a supernatural darkness so deep there was no way for anyone not connected to it to ever comprehend. Those were the eyes of a goddess, an immortal harbinger of death, lovely and deadly as a viper. Or perhaps, Lisa thought after a breathless pause, the viper was better compared to _her_.

The blonde Corsican looked at them calmly, and Breffort had the momentary impression of a lioness judging whether or not they were worth the trouble of killing. It was a slow, almost negligent look, but blazingly intense. He spared a moment of regret that he had dragged Lisa along on this errand of foolish mercy; if he was about to die, he didn't want his niece to be destroyed with him. Then Mirelle blinked once, recognition entering her face, though her eyes stayed the same flat coldness. "I want to know where she is."

"You mean Kirika?" Remy paused. Alexander would not have brought Kirika with him, of course, it wasn't intelligent. But finding out where he had put the young woman was going to be difficult. Even if they had all the time in the world, which the silver-haired Soldat was very sure they did not. "We're not sure yet – my men are working on it at the moment."

Mirelle watched him for a moment more, absolutely silent, her face impossible to read.

"The old Manor house in the Chez district." Lisa's voice was even softer than her uncle's, but it had an unmistakable ring of truth. She really didn't want to call attention to herself; she knew for a fact that if Mirelle decided to kill her, she might not even see the attack coming before she died. "He used to live there when I knew him, and its where most of the guards has been moving. There's forty or fifty of them by now, maybe more."

The Corsican assassin watched them both for a few more seconds, then nodded once, slowly. Silent, she turned toward the street where her car must have been parked. Lisa hesitated, then called out again.

"Noir?" Not Mirelle – whoever, whatever this person was, she was not the Mirelle that Lisa knew. This was one half of Noir, the deadliest assassin in the world.

The taller blonde turned, one eyebrow rising, and caught the two long, black rectangles Lisa tossed her way. "It was all the ammo we had for a Walter." Lisa explained, almost shyly.

Something that might have been a faint echo of Mirelle's trademark smirk curled at the corners of the Corsican's lips, and she nodded again, turning back toward the car. Lisa and her uncle watched her go, each stalking stride a flowing example of liquid grace. Breathless, the Soldats young woman shook her head slightly, overwhelmed with too many emotions to name. "I hope she finds Kirika." She whispered, almost to herself.

"If you have to wonder, my dear, you do not know them as I do." Surprised, Lisa looked up at her uncle as he patted her shoulder softly. Breffort's smile was deeply sad. "The two of them belong to each other. There is nothing to fear."

_Nothing to fear – _Lisa glanced at the lifeless bodies littering the ground around them and shuddered, remembering the terrifying power that had stared from Mirelle's eyes. Such pure, bloodsoaked darkness, without morals or emotions or any humanity – such a thing was unthinkable. And the High Council had _deliberately_ made Mirelle and Kirika into these weapons? "How – how could anyone _do_ something like that?" The words exploded from her in a low hiss. "How could anyone make another person into something so monsterous? A _child_!"

She met her uncle's eyes and saw the deep, gentle understanding there. "Now you know, my darling. You know why I would do anything I can to take care of them." His voice was quiet, solemn. "Years ago, I was relieved that Altena refused to allow your blessing by the High Priest. She refused because she feared it would give the Council more power over the Saplings."

"And you?"

Breffort sighed. "I didn't know myself. Not until the day I saw those two incredible young women limping from the Manor, and Mirelle herself told me that they would always seek the light. If they forged in the fires of Hell itself could show kindness or find love, who are we to stop them?"

Silence hung heavy for a few more moments before Lisa nodded, slowly. "So what do we do, Uncle?"

"For now, we get the cleanup crew here." Breffort smiled, ruffling her bangs affectionately before reaching for his cell phone. "Then we go home and get back to work. When the girls are ready, they will need to know who was behind Alexander, and we will have that information for them."

Lisa nodded again, wandering through the bodies as her uncle began dialing the required numbers. Soldats had their own private clean-up detail, of course; by the time any police got here, there wouldn't even be bloodstains to mark the ground. Breffort's voice murmured quietly in the background, and Lisa noticed a familiar body sprawled on the pavement, slightly beyond the rest of the corpses. _Alexander._ He lay on his back, dead eyes open and staring sightlessly up at the sky, a mess of blood and bruises punctuated sharply by a hole in his forehead. She supposed she should close his eyes, show some respect for the dead. It was the proper thing to do, after all.

His body made a meaty, shuffling _thunk_ noise as she kicked him in the groin. "Bastard." She muttered, turning away. She strode back to her uncle's side, not even bothering to look back.

They had work to do.

* * *

_Did I mention I love Lisa too? xD_

_The next chapter or so are my two personal favorites, but don't hold me to a quick deadline - got some stuff to do for the next few days. I won't leave you guys hanging, though, I promise. Reviews, as usual, are much loved and given candy. (nodnod)_


	11. Rejoined Hearts, Dreams Revealed

_Yeesh, I'm sorry this took so long. Strangely, it wasn't the writing itself, but my own idiocy in trying to find out the romanji translation for Kirika's comment at the end of the chapter. My own knowledge of Japanese and online translators failed me. (sigh) Ah well, I tried._

_Kapleon: (waves) Of course I will - I can't leave people hanging. Besides, I'd probably have a stroke if I left it now. xD_

_MV: As long as she needs to until Kirika is safe. (grin) Messing with her woman is grounds for "I will kill you all."_

_Fiefiefofum: Rest assured, I haven't forgotten the kitties. They show up next chapter with amazing fluff and adorable cuteness. Mirelle has to give them to Kirika, after all. (evil smirk)_

_Im nothing but a dream: Hey, it will be good. Happens - well, depending on where I cut it off, either next chapter or the one after. Since it'll be a doubleshot anyway, next update. (nodnod)_

_Haru-Chan: (blush) I cannot BELIEVE I did that. And the sad thing is, when I read it through before uploading, I went "that's not the right gun" but couldn't for the life of me think of which one it really was. Haru gets cookies! xD _

_Everyone else: I luff joo all muchly! And thank you so much for reviewing. As a sidenote, the translation for Mirelle's Corsican is at the end of the chapter._

* * *

**Rejoined Hearts, Dreams Revealed**

This job had to be the most boring one he could have pulled.

Robert Anders, member and foot soldier of the great Soldats, leaned back against the reinforced wall of the Old Manor and yawned. At his side stood three more fellow soldiers, mirroring the other four men standing across the hall. All eight were armed with semiautomatics along with the usual handguns, ear-coms and walkie-talkies – just like the sentries manning the walls and roofs of this place and the neighboring buildings, and the men farther inside the winding halls. Whoever had ordered this guard detail, they were taking absolutely no chances. There were more than sixty soldiers, for cripes' sake! It was seriously annoying. As far as he could tell, there wasn't even anyone coming after the little bitch they had stuffed in the main assembly hall. And she was drugged up and quiet for the most part.

Still, it was better than some assignments he could name, so he supposed he'd best count his blessings. Grabbing for his water bottle, Rob tilted his head back and squeezed a long stream of liquid into his mouth, wiping his lips with a swipe of his arm. Across from him, one of the other soldiers – Kenny, he remembered after a moment – gave him a raised eyebrow, looking somewhere between amused and reprimanding. Robert ignored the pointed expression. Kenny was a foul-mouthed pain in the ass most of the time anyway. Beside Kenny, Juan rolled his eyes and smirked. He was a good enough guy as far as Rob knew, usually easy-going, and with a decent sense of humor. Robert grumbled under his breath. At least there was one of them in this screwed-up place.

_Blam! Blam blam blam! Blam blam!_

What the hell had that been? Rob's eyebrow quirked, automatically shifting his automatic toward the faint noises from farther outside. He knew the sound of gunfire, and yet, the noise he heard was – off, wrong somehow. After a few more seconds, it hit him. The shots weren't coming from any of the standard-issue handguns he knew the soldiers carried. They were from a different make all together.

His head lifted, eyes wide and body tensing with the prospect of real combat. Who was coming? A rival Councilman's thugs, some gang of lowlifes looking to make a name for themselves? Glancing to the side, he could tell Kenny and Juan had heard the noises too; they were straightened, faces alert and intent as they watched down opposite ends of the hallway. There were more shots now, from the other direction. Robert's eyebrows drew together in a frown. Two teams, maybe? Coming from opposite sides? His com hadn't gone off once – why wasn't anybody reporting in if they were under attack?

Another moment, and the gunfire had stopped entirely, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Rob flicked the safety from his automatic, frown deepening. He could have sworn he felt eyes watching them, a strange gaze pressing down on the very air until it sang with power and tension. But there was absolutely no one for a good dozen yards on either side down the hallway. Still, as much as he wanted to write the sensation off as nerves, it was just too strong. His skin was crawling, the hair all over his body standing on end and the taste of copper heavy on his tongue. Next to him, the new guy – a kid called Danny – was shaking, nearly vibrating with tension. So it wasn't just his worry, Robert thought with a faint satisfaction. There was something very weird going on here –

In the quiet, a new sound appeared, different than the shots that had erupted moments before. Muted, slamming, as if a stream of bullets were deliberately hitting something solid instead of the softer give of flesh and bone. It seemed close, but Rob couldn't see a damned thing. There was no-fucking-body there!

Turning slightly to the side, he meant to ask Juan and Kenny if they were feeling the same thing he was. Instead, his eyes widened in shock. The soldier standing beside Kenny had just gone sliding down the wall, half of his head blown away. Blood spattered across Ken's dark jacket and now paper-white face, his gaze black and terrified. Danny was jerking around, almost spastic. "Where the fuck – "

Another of those weird noises, and the kid stopped talking, frozen for a moment before dropping like a puppet whose strings had been cut. In the fading sunlight that still illuminated the corridor, Robert could see blood pouring from a new wound in his neck. "Sonofabitch!" Rob cursed, hearing Juan swearing vehemently in Spanish. Mostly foul snarling, sprinkled with something about ghosts and invisible killers. It didn't make any sense – how the hell had the kid been shot from behind? He was leaning against the damned wall!

The wall – no, that was fucking impossible!

Robert spun around, staring wide-eyed at the thick, blank wall as though it had personally betrayed them all. There were two holes in the plaster and brick now, no larger than the width of a thumbnail. For a few more seconds, shock and disbelief held him frozen and speechless. Who the hell could shoot though a wall with such pinpoint precision?

"They're through the damned – "

The words died in his throat as Kenny – having realized the same thing and followed his look – spun halfway around and dropped to the ground, the third attacking shot having gone straight through his temple. Terror competed with a sudden surge of inappropriate, hysterical laughter bubbling through Rob's gut. Somebody had killed Kenny! Wasn't that an American joke somewhere? Robert gave a horrified groan, watching the other three soldiers in his squad toppling like bowling pins. He and Juan were all that was left, now. Clutching his automatic tighter, Rob wondered in the back of his mind if he should simply shoot himself and save their unseen assailant the trouble of terrifying him to death.

"_Màs dios_." Juan whispered, staring wide-eyed all around them. His jittering gaze focused briefly on Kenny's ravaged face. "That did not come from the wall." He turned toward his right, Rob's left. "There is something – "

The bark of that invisible gun came again, and Juan's body jerked as a chunk of meat exploded out of his upper shoulder. An expertly placed heart shot, Robert realized distantly, watching his former friend – now corpse – join the masses littering the floor. But now Rob had caught a flash of red and gold, too solid to be the reflection of sunlight. The fact that he'd never seen anyone able to shoot from that distance and hit shit, let alone the incredible feats of marksmanship in the last few seconds, didn't even register. Instead, his automatic jumped to life, spraying the hallway with a howl of terrified bravo. "Come on out, bastard! You wanna fucking play, let's play!"

A sudden clicking sound penetrated his haze, and Robert's hands shuddered as he realized the clip was empty. Dropping the automatic with a harsh clatter, he tried to jerk his handgun free of its holster, staggering back from the shadowy end of the hall. He never even got that far. Agony exploded in his gut, blood running in wet heat down his body to join another soaking stain farther down. As though in slow motion, Rob felt himself falling backward, dropping onto his ass with an ungraceful thump. The stink told him the bullet had hit his intestines – even if he didn't die right away, the infection would very likely kill him anyway.

Into the quiet and soft moaning came another noise, one his slowly shutting down brain refused to comprehend for a moment. _Boots_, he realized dimly. The sound was the sharp clacking of boot heels against the floor. Slowly, the owner of the boots came into view, and Robert wondered if his imminent death was making him hallucinate. This was the killer, the destroyer, the person who'd massacred his entire squad?

She looked more like an angel that happened to wander down to earth. Thick, wavy golden tresses forming a halo around her elegant features, pale, flawless skin, and a lean, beautiful body showed off to gorgeous perfection in a black leather skirt and a tight, sleeveless shirt of crimson velvet. Each smooth, liquid stride was like pure grace made flesh, the knee-high black leather boots rapping out his death with perfect precision. She had a matching leather jacket thrown almost carelessly over one shoulder, and Rob could see a black shoulder rig strapped across her torso. It fit with the handgun she held in her right hand. Robert didn't know much beyond the basics of guns – he was fairly sure it was a Walther, and not a PPK, but the actual model eluded him. Though judging from the confident ease she carried it with, she was obviously a pro.

Then, as he strained his eyes, her face leapt from fuzzy beauty into full, terrifyingly gorgeous detail. The skin there looked smooth and soft, her features aristocratic and amazingly beautiful. But it was the eyes that pulled Rob up short, made him realize exactly how this willowy young woman could ever have done such a thing. The sapphire blue orbs were flat and emotionless, darkness layered beneath a sheen of living, glacial ice. There was nothing in that gaze to be reasoned with or pleaded with. Looking into those eyes, he knew she really had shot through the walls, taken out Juan and Kenny from a distance he'd never seen any human being manage. She was death itself, implacable and unstoppable.

Glancing down at him, the killer spoke, tone as level and empty as her eyes. "Where is she?"

She? The little bitch? Robert coughed, blood running down his chin while he wheezed. How the hell had she hit his intestines and his lung? Maybe it was two shots, close enough that he couldn't tell the difference. It wouldn't have been hard for her. "Go to hell." He rasped.

There was no reaction, but her weapon barked again, and Rob writhed in agony when his kneecap splintered. Again came her voice. "Where is she?"

"Kiss my a – " Now Robert screamed, a choking howl as she slammed her heel down on the wound, snapping the tendons and grinding bone fragments into flesh. "Sh-She's in the main hall." He half moaned, half sobbed. "In the middle of the house. They're all there, forty, fifty of 'em. They left us to watch for intruders. Oh, god – "

The boot moved, and Rob gave a shuddering sigh, the lessening of the agony almost a physical relief. A split-second later, the Walther spoke once more, and Robert of Soldats slumped back to the floor, a neat hole through his forehead.

Mirelle paused only long enough to wipe her heel against the shirt of one of the other thugs, apparently considering her options. The eyes of the true Noir flicked briefly toward the ear-coms still adorning the corpses, but she decided against taking one. Whatever they were planning didn't concern her.

Strategic attack or frenzy, they were all going to die.

* * *

"Squad C! Come in, squad C!"

Kirika's fuzzy thoughts swam back to sharper consciousness as she listened to one of the goons yelling furiously. She'd been fading in and out since a little while after they'd brought her to this place, although she had no idea how much time had actually passed. The thugs basically ignored her, talking among themselves unless one of them felt the need to shut her up when she groaned or whimpered. Not that she meant to do either, but she didn't even have control enough to stand upright. Her shoulders and back were on fire with spasms. They'd hung her by her wrists from something up in the rafters, half-leaning against the wall, like some sort of hunting trophy or a slab of beef. A choked noise that might have been a laugh died in Kirika's throat. It was absolutely ridiculous – she was Noir, a maiden of death. And she couldn't even stand on her own two feet, could hardly open her eyes.

"They took out squad C!" Howled the voice again, dragging Kirika's attention back to him. He sounded so furious, and Kirika wondered what he was talking about for a few seconds before the words made sense. Someone had taken out their people? Who? Hope flared briefly in her chest, hot and bright in spite of her attempt to squash it. _Mirelle, oh Mirelle, could it really be you? Did you come for me?_

Common sense intruded a moment later. Mirelle wasn't coming to rescue her. Even if they'd somehow gotten the blonde Corsican to agree to meet with them, there was no way Mirelle would find this place. _Or that she would ever want me back again. I was so stupid – I should have died months ago. Then she wouldn't have been in danger. Mirelle, Mirelle I love you, I'm so sorry._

Kirika swallowed a sob, realizing she was babbling mentally again. The thugs appeared to be oblivious to her thoughts, shouting and raging at each other. Apparently, there was someone, some group attacking this place. Whoever they were, they were heading this way at a worrying speed. The goons were split as to whether or not they should stay put or leave with her in tow. "We're supposed to stay and wait for Alexander!" One of them protested. Kirika gritted her teeth. _That bastard._

"To hell with that!" Another yelled back. "I don't want to stay here and get killed for this worthless bitch!"

Kirika shuddered. She really was worthless. No one needed her, no one wanted her. Pain that had nothing to do with her physical agony tore through her chest, heavy and pressing. Why couldn't she just disappear?

A sudden scuffling, shooting noise coming from close by suddenly ripped her mind back to the present. Body trembling with tortured effort, Kirika lifted her head, opening her aching eyes. At first, the flickering shadows and fading sunlight refused to connect with her brain; then, with a shock like cold water dashing across her face, the world returned for just a moment, incredibly vivid and clear. That lean, beautiful shade across the room, darkness in the deeper shadows – her chapped lips moved, the anguished, hopeful sound no more than whisper.

"Mireyu – "

* * *

_Those eyes were the prettiest things she'd ever seen._

_Six-year-old Kirika Yuumura stood motionless among the bodies of the Bouquet family, solemn gaze locked on the older girl that stood in front of her. What had lady Odette called her? Mirelle, that was it. Mireyu, Kirika thought silently, splitting the syllables and coloring them with the Japanese that had been her first language so long ago. Mirelle Bouquet, with wavy golden tresses and the most beautiful sapphire eyes. There was warmth in that gaze, a fierce gentleness Kirika had never seen before. Something she could almost lose herself in. And the blonde wasn't afraid of her at all._

_Her gaze flicking downward briefly, the little Japanese stowed her heavy gun in the pocket of her overalls, then looked back up at Mirelle. "You – dropped your teddy bear." She spoke English, though she knew the older girl could understand French just as well. English felt right. Gently, she scooped up the stuffed animal and held it out, half-expecting Mirelle to shrink away or react in fear. It was the way everyone reacted to her – fear, awe or brisk efficiency. But this girl did neither. She looked surprised, as though she hadn't realized she'd dropped her toy . . . but she took the teddy bear without the slightest hesitation, tucking it safely back in the crook of her elbow. Her voice was soft. "Thank you."_

_Kirika nodded slightly, her eyes skittering across the floor to the silver pocket watch gleaming open on the tiles. Mirelle's sapphire orbs followed the movement, and now she stepped forward, picking up the round metal object in one hand. After a moment, the small blonde held her precious item back out solemnly. "This – it's yours now, isn't it?"_

_Kirika nodded again, faintly surprised that the other girl would realize such a thing. Especially since she hadn't been raised as Noir. The younger child reached out, their hands touching, the watch settled between them. It was an oddly intense emotion that swept the two of them then; Kirika felt it, and she could see in the depths of those sapphire eyes that Mirelle did, too. Intense, almost electric, but not painful. A connection, as fierce and real as anything Kirika had ever experienced. She had never known anything like it – the closest thing she could compare it to was her training as Noir. Like coming home, or being safe, needed. "Thank you." She whispered, closing the lid of the watch and tucking it carefully in another pocket._

_Mirelle gave a soft expressive look that could almost have been a smile . . . there was a sudden motion behind her, movement that instinctively meant danger . . . a tall man, with hair like Mirelle's, jerking the older girl back with the same horrified expression they always wore when they saw Kirika . . . he was shooting, and a blade was coming at him from somewhere behind her . . . and Kirika spun, leaping to get away . . ._

* * *

Bright light flared suddenly in Kirika's eyes, scraping across the inside of her skull and dragging her back toward consciousness. With a moan, she batted weakly at the air above her, trying in vain to make the blinding blaze go away. It hurt so badly –

Quick, gentle fingers caught her wrist, softly stroking the back of her hand as they returned it to her side. A voice was speaking above her, faintly familiar but somehow different, not quite right. Another known voice answered, this one male – the first cut in again, slightly sharper, and Kirika had a sense that it won whatever argument they were having. The light went down a few seconds later, much to the young woman's relief. She was so muddled, everything fuzzy and covered in a haze. Dimly, she knew she wasn't tied up or standing anymore; she was lying down on something cushioned and soft, the agony in her back and shoulders reduced to little more than a dull ache. The air around her wasn't cold, but comfortably warm, even though she couldn't seem to stop shivering. There was no more yelling or screaming either.

And the sweet, smooth hands cradling hers were incredibly comforting.

Gentle clinical fingertips touched her jaw, tilting it softly to the side. Kirika couldn't help the low whimper that escaped her throat, fear crawling through her veins like slow sludge. What were they doing to her now? She felt better, or at least not as horrible, but was it all a trick? The soft grip on her hand tightened a bit, calming touches trailing over her skin. The first voice was saying something again – Kirika caught her name in the soothing flow of meaningless words. Whatever it was saying, the murmur of sound loosened the tight ache in her chest, making everything feel light and airy. She was falling again, floating away, but strangely, it wasn't frightening anymore.

* * *

Mirelle watched in silence as Patrick finished his examination, fingers still absently stroking the back of Kirika's hand. They'd been here a little less than an hour, the blonde Corsican stationed in a chair at her partner's side while the doctor took care of Kirika's injuries. Vaguely, Mirelle was grateful for his quiet competency – he hadn't done much more than blink when she'd appeared at the door, the younger woman cradled safely in her arms like a child. Since then, the young man had carefully checked her body reactions for the drugs, examined and cleaned each and every wound.

"Well, I think that's the last of it." Wiping his hands with a damp cloth, Patrick tossed it into the sink and sighed, shaking his head. His voice was wry, tiredly amused. "Silly me, I hoped you might manage to keep out of trouble for more than a month."

The ghost of a smirk crossed Mirelle's face, and Patrick was grateful for that. He'd been more than a little frightened when he had first laid eyes on the two young women. Not necessarily because of the wounds, he'd seen those – and worse – before. No, his fear had come when he had looked up into Mirelle's face and seen those terrifying eyes looking back at him. Darkness incarnate, power beyond anything human. Those eyes had been horrifying – if he hadn't known for a fact that the blonde Corsican wasn't going to kill him, Patrick was certain he'd have had a heart attack right then and there. Folding his arms over his chest, the young doctor turned his gaze intently to Mirelle.

"As far as I can tell, her body's breaking down the compounds of whatever drug he injected her with just fine. She'll be pretty exhausted until it wears off, probably a little confused too, but she should be alright by tomorrow morning." Patrick shook his head again, amazed as always by their healing abilities. "Maybe a massage for her shoulders and back, since they're kind of tender. There's no real deep physical damage, just a few bruises and some scratches." He looked at the blonde narrowly. "I suppose asking how she ended up with her ass kicked and you don't have more than a few scrapes is an exercise in futility?"

"They got her by surprise." Mirelle's voice was nearly as flat as before, but there was a low undercurrent of rage that sent every part of his skin crawling. Even though it wasn't directed at him, it was still terrifying. Blinking, the doctor tried to gather his wits as the young woman stood. "Um, I have a wheelchair you could use – "

"That's alright." Golden tresses sweeping like a curtain, Mirelle bent and gathered Kirika in her arms, cradling the smaller girl close. Shifting that dark head to a more comfortable position on her shoulder, the Corsican made it all look incredibly easy as she stood. "Put it on the tab, will you? We're going home."

Still a bit stunned, Patrick nodded, hurrying to open the door to his medium-sized office. After a few more instructions, the two young women swept out, and he took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh as he sat down. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to whoever might have had the stupidity of touching Kirika. Then he shook himself.

There were some things a man just didn't want to know.

* * *

Outside on the street, Mirelle headed for the new car, Kirika nestled safely in her arms. She wasn't worried about drawing her weapon – she knew, somehow, that she could do it without a problem. And she knew she probably should have accepted Patrick's offer of a wheelchair, too. It was the most intelligent thing to do, the most logical course of action, especially for an assassin.

But it would entail letting go of Kirika, and somehow she just couldn't bring herself to do that unless she absolutely had to. Even if it meant her safety, she couldn't stand the thought of Kirika scrunched up on the seat of the car, cold and unconscious and alone. Although, as several shadows blocked her path and the darkness in her mind rushed forward again, she had to wonder if obeying these odd impulses was going to get them both killed.

Lisa paused, keeping perfectly still as Mirelle's head lifted, those frightening eyes focusing in on her. She knew the tall blonde was still more Noir than the young woman she had met earlier, and she knew Mirelle wouldn't hesitate to put bullets through anything that stood in her way. But right now, she was hoping there was enough of the Corsican left to talk with. "Mirelle?"

"What do you want?" The voice that answered was still emotionless, flat and measured, but not quite as frightening as before.

"To give you a ride." Tucking a lock of thick hair behind her ear, the young Soldat answered the question honestly. "So you two can get home." _So we know you're safe,_ she wanted desperately to add, but decided not to press her luck. After today, she had a feeling the other girl wouldn't believe that comment if her tongue came notarized.

"I have a car." Mirelle pointed out calmly.

Lisa nodded. "Yeah." She agreed, her voice quiet and careful. This was the moment that might kill her. "But if you're driving, you can't hold her."

Mirelle blinked, and Lisa watched the darkness in those eyes receded just a bit, warmth flaring in to fill the emptiness as that gaze flicked swiftly down to the dark head resting against her shoulder. A slow, almost imperceptible movement, but it was exactly what Lisa had suspected. Her uncle had said as much, but any doubts the gray-eyed blonde might have had vanished in that simple look. Mirelle would rather cut her hand off than let go of Kirika, even if it was just for the short ride home.

After a long, drawn moment, Mirelle nodded silently. Lisa turned, waving aside the two tall, hulking men with her. One of them – Duncan Anderson – moved aside with hardly a glance; the other, one of their new men from outside Paris, simply stood gaping in astonishment. Mirelle ignored both, following the blonde Soldat down the sidewalk toward the limo. Behind them, Lisa could hear a hissed, rapid-fire conversation in French. Mostly, whether or not she was insane, and what the hell they were doing picking up hired killers in the Breffort's personal vehicle.

"Shut up." Anderson finally growled, effectively ending the conversation. "The lady Lisa knows what she's doing. And the maidens deserve our help more than any person alive."

Lisa's lips twitched. Their driver opened the door, and she stepped easily into the back of the limo, shifting to the side so Mirelle could climb in after her. This was going to be an interesting ride.

* * *

Kirika floated to the edge of consciousness once more, burrowing instinctively closer to the warmth pressed against her. She wasn't lying down anymore, but curled up in what felt oddly like someone's lap, arms bent up against her chest, head resting half against the person's shoulder, half against their neck. Other arms were wrapped gently around her, cradling her, a hand stroking soothingly through her hair. A familiar voice murmured in her ear, the sound like a low rumble through the torso Kirika lay against. She could only make out a few of the soft words and phrases, a mix of French and another tongue she couldn't make sense of. _" . . . pè e . . . donne dui . . . a manu neru se securità."_ _"scusate tante ûn la sô, ûn capiscu mica." "Mon scuru ange." "Vous êtes les miens . . . je vous protègrai." "per piacè, per piacè, être bien."_

Then, even softer still, "_c'est le nom d'un destin antique. Deux demoiselles qui régissent la mort. La paix nouvellement du soutenu, leurs mains noires se protègent._"

Kirika's muddled mind recognized the last part, but strangely, the familiar litany filled her with soothing calm instead of fear. The other gentle phrases she tucked away for later, letting the light tones wash through her. Farther away, she could hear a low rumble, like that of a high-performance car. Where on earth was she?

Too tired to figure it out, she gave a soft sigh and snuggled closer, exhausted eyes never even opening. Whatever was going on, here in this moment she was protected, surrounded by safety and warmth and a feeling of utter want. It was enough for now. The rest, she could deal with later.

* * *

Lisa sighed, glancing at Mirelle as the limo purred along. The blond young woman had settled Kirika oh so carefully on her lap right after she'd climbed in, her arms wrapped softly around the smaller girl as her fingers trailed gently through that short dark hair. She'd been whispering for almost the whole time, too, her voice a low, running murmur. Distantly, Lisa wondered what she was saying. Soothing words of encouragement, maybe? It looked like she wasn't even aware she was doing it.

Looking to the side, she caught the new guy – Pierce, she remembered after a moment – staring at the two maidens with an expression equal parts shock and curiosity, eyes wide and stunned. Lisa stomped on an urge to kick him, then bit down an equally inappropriate urge to laugh. She just couldn't help it. He looked so _funny_.

Anderson, following the direction of her gaze, leaned over the slight distance that separated them on the seat and jammed an elbow in his fellow Soldat's ribs. When Pierce looked up indignantly, the taller young man gave a fierce, silent shake of his head. His eyes were intense and defiant. _Stop staring._ He seemed to say, snarling without words. _Leave them alone. They don't need your prying._

Pierce had the grace to look embarrassed, turning his head to look out the window instead. _Good._ Lisa leaned back, another soft sigh escaping almost unheard. Kirika would be alright; the blond Soldat had done enough medical work – mostly field, with animals and people – that she knew the younger girl's wounds were mostly superficial, if a bit jarring to look at. Still, the idea that Alex could do such a thing to the smaller Japanese was painful. And she still felt guilty. It was at least partly her fault.

The auto pulled up to the curb outside of the apartment building, and Anderson fairly leapt to open the door. He climbed out, followed by Lisa, then Mirelle and her precious burden, then Pierce. "Mirelle – " The younger blonde reached, then paused, fingertips hovering just over the skin of Mirelle's arm. Touching was probably still a big fat _no_ at this point, if it was ever okay in the first place. "Can you reach your keys?"

Again, that faint echo of Mirelle's usual smirk, a slight incline of her head. The Corsican shifted Kirika just a bit, muscles trembling lightly as she balanced all her partner's weight in one arm. Her now-free hand dipped swiftly into the pocket of her jacket, returning with a light, familiar metallic jingle. "We're stronger than we look." She said softly.

Lisa nodded, a ghost of a smile flitting across her own lips. "That was never a doubt."

Mirelle nodded once more, equal parts agreement and thanks, Lisa had a feeling. Turning, the taller blonde headed easily into the building. All three Soldats stood and watched until the door shut behind the maidens. Anderson set a hand on Lisa's shoulder gently. "So – where to now, miss Lisa? Home?"

The younger Soldat sighed. "Home." She agreed. "Uncle will probably want to know how things went, and I'd like to see what he found out."

"And the two of them?" Pierce asked, slightly more subdued after Mirelle's casual display of strength. A laughing smirk flicked through Lisa's mind, quickly hidden. Not so big and bad now, was he? Her gray eyes shifted up to the top floor windows, a range of emotions slipping through her features. Gentle sweetness, knowing laughter, slight awe and even a trace of soft affection. She smiled, turning back toward the limo. "They'll be fine."

"They have each other again."

* * *

_Corsican eyes._

_That was what she remembered first, living ice glittering savagely in the tumbled-down entrance. Those sapphire orbs that Kirika so loved to watch, the same fascinating, striking eyes that could shatter her heart or send her spirit soaring with a single casual glance. But these dazzling, gorgeous eyes were narrowed now, pitiless and cold like chips of frozen sky, a distantly lethal expression upon the lovely porcelain face in the doorway. Mirelle's arm swinging up from the deep, endless shadows, finger pulling the trigger of her Walther again and again, firing with so much more than even her usual deadly proficiency . . . reloading once, then twice, pressing her attacks with swift, critical combinations of hands and feet, even though the small Asian assassin had been sure before this day that her partner lacked more than half her own skill in martial arts._

_And their enemies died, in scores and piled on top of each other, most before they even had a chance to recognize the golden reaper that had come upon them. The smell – no, the reek of blood and bodily fluids had been almost overpowering, even to a practiced killer like Kirika. Copper and cordite lay heavy and bitter on her tongue, burning raw in her throat. And the sounds were beyond description. The sharp splinter of shattered bone, the hollow pop of torn joints, the repeated crack of gunshots and thuds when they found their mark, all punctuating the rough, rasping breaths of her captors and – only once or twice – the tortured, horrified screams of those unfortunate enough to see death coming in the instants before they died._

_And once the slaughter was over, and only corpses remained to litter the ruined, blood-slick floor, that crimson and gold goddess turned toward her, unhurried and unstoppable. Those terrifying eyes focused on her, and there was nothing in them, no emotion and no mercy, no escape from the overwhelming fear and the eternal loneliness of death they promised – _

"No, Mireyu!"

Kirika awoke at shocking speed, ripped into full consciousness with a painful jolt of adrenaline. Sweat dampened her brow, body shivering feverishly, though whether it was the after-effects of the drug or a reaction to her nightmare she didn't know. For a few seconds, her dazed mind couldn't understand where she was, breath coming in harsh, frightened gasps. Then her strained eyes focused, and she recognized the plain white wall, the polished wooden angles of the dresser she and her partner had shared for so long. The soft cotton pulled up around her shoulders was their familiar pale sheets, the same ones she'd slept on and awakened to countless times in the past, faintly cool night air from the windows just barely stirring the linens. She was back in the apartment? But how – why?

A shadow swept across her moonlit vision, mattress sinking slightly as someone slipped hurriedly under the blankets in response to her hoarse cry. "Shhhh, Kirika." The female voice was low and soothing, an arm curling gently over Kirika's shoulders. Mirelle pulled her partner back against her own lean, lithe body, brushing at the younger woman's dark hair with soft fingertips. "It's alright, I'm here. It's alright."

Kirika clung without shame to that comforting arm, still shaking and frightened. A terrifying flash of inhuman, pitiless sapphires rose sharp and brief, then faded away from her thoughts, tense and trembling muscles relaxing by inches into the Corsican's warm embrace. This was her Mirelle, the young woman she cherished, not the bloody killing goddess she remembered in such fear. She knew it by the soft strength in the arm across her shoulders, the gentle stirring of breath against her ear and the tender warmth of the toned, familiar frame pressed to her back. The blonde assassin's chest moved slowly, rhythmically, coaxing her partner's ragged half-gasps into something more normal. Kirika managed a long, shaky breath in response, taking the soft, faintly-herbal scent that meant _Mirelle_ deep into her lungs. It spread into her, floated around her, a warm, invisible cloud of safety. Dispelling her fright and pain in a wash of comfort. Tucked here against the Corsican, held in this cradling embrace, she was protected and cared for. Unbidden, a shaking whisper passed her lips, the questioning sound laced with fear, anguish and shame. She had to know. "Alex – "

"Dead." Mirelle's murmured answer was fierce but gentle, with none of the anger or disgust Kirika had been expecting. The fingers trailing through her hair never ceased their light movement. "Him and all soldiers."

"Oh." Kirika breathed, uncertain. Mirelle didn't sound furious or annoyed or even mildly put out. It was unbelievable, especially after the argument and the Japanese's monumental stupidity, but there it was. And the soft touches were incredibly soothing. Shifting slightly, the younger woman winced, a sharp hiss escaping her throat when her body protested. Apparently, her shoulders and back were still more than a little sore. She could feel Mirelle's eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

"Does it still hurt?" The blonde's voice was low and definitely, strangely anxious. Kirika hesitated, torn between wanting her partner's comfort for the pain and admitting such a horrible weakness. She was already a liability, a worthless fool – her muscles spasmed, throbbing now that she had forced them to move. "Yes." Her whisper was full of self-loathing. "Just – just a little."

Mirelle's hand dropped from her hair to her shoulder, massaging the sore muscles gently. Kirika stiffened, half-gasping, then relaxed backward with a sigh of relief. The tense knots clung stubbornly for a few seconds, staying clenched, but they unraveled to smoothness again under the soft ministrations. Eyes like molten copper fluttered slightly, a combination of calmed release and sheer exhaustion. "That feels better, I bet." The blonde sounded satisfied, so much more like herself that Kirika's lips twitched in a faint smile.

The smile faded a second later, Kirika's eyes prickling suspiciously. Her throat was tight, voice shaking and incredibly small, but she had to say it. She had to tell her partner how sorry she was, even if the words didn't mean anything. "M-Mir-Mireyu, I – "

Before she could finish, a light finger pressed gently to her trembling lips, silencing her. Mirelle spoke quietly, tones immeasurably tender as they murmured in her ear. "Shhhh, Kirika. Don't – don't say it." Her breath caught slightly. "I know."

Mirelle – Mirelle knew? How could she? The hand against her mouth cupped her cheek briefly before moving back to her hair, continuing the soft petting. It seemed impossible that the Corsican could forgive her that easily – but why would she have come to the rescue otherwise? Why would she have brought Kirika home? Kirika took a deep breath and sighed. Sleep returned and pulled at her, trying to suck her beneath its waves, but she fought it back. "Mireyu?"

"Ummm?" The blonde answered with a low sound in her throat, noise vibrating gently through her chest and Kirika's own back. It made the younger woman relax further, even as her heart clenched. She had no right, but the question tumbled from her lips anyway, a halting whisper of need. "You won't – leave me, will you?"

For a moment, there was silence, and Kirika forced her eyes open, biting back the rush of sob that choked the back of her throat. She wanted to disappear all over again. Of course Mirelle didn't want to stay with her anymore –

Then the blonde's arm shifted, tucking the sheets a little tighter around the two of them before curling around Kirika's shoulders once more. Mirelle held her close, voice low and firm. "I'm not going anywhere." Her steady warmth never faltered. "Go back to sleep, Kirika. I'll be here when you wake up."

There was so much more she wanted, _needed_ to hear, but for now, those simple words were treasure enough. Kirika's breath ran from her in a soft, contented sigh, rust-colored eyes drifting shut once more, and Mirelle could feel the brittle tension of her partner's body draining like dirty water. _She's confused – must still be working the drugs out of her system._ The Corsican assassin lay quietly on her side, head propped on one elegant hand, blonde tresses turned liquid silver in the moonlight as they flowed over the shared pillows. Her fingers trailed gently through Kirika's bangs, an unconscious, affectionate motion. Actually, she couldn't seem to stop touching the younger woman – brushing at her hair, stroking her shoulders or just cuddling her close, it didn't matter as long as she had some contact with her partner. It was as though her body was afraid Kirika would melt away if left by herself. She didn't quite understand it, but at the moment, she didn't care, either.

Feather-light, her fingertips lingered on the quarter-sized bruise half hidden in Kirika's hairline, tracing the long scratch down the side of her partner's face until it dropped off her jawbone. In the darkness, the wounds were almost invisible, but nothing could soften the dark purple finger marks violating the golden skin of her slender, delicate neck. Mirelle's own jaw tightened with barely-leashed fury, hand hovering just above the smaller woman's sleeping face. She had seen those wounds fresh and raw, under the full harshness of Patrick's florescent lights. Even without his expert opinion, the blonde was an accomplished field surgeon. She understood how bad the injuries were, and how bad they could have been.

_If they had hurt her permanently – _Mirelle refused to finish that thought, carefully counting Kirika's breaths instead the way the doctor had suggested. They were all dead, down to the last arrogant suited bastard, but it did little to ease the strange ache lodged under her chest. That was dull now, with Kirika's lean body pressed safe and warm against her, but still there. Not anger, but maybe – guilt? Shame that she had put Kirika in a position to fear her. Jagged splinters of vivid memory darted through her head, a kaleidoscope of spinning sensation that strung together into a sharp, frightening whole.

_It was the smell she noticed first._

_Mirelle blinked, slowly, mind rising back to the reality around her like she had just woken from a nightmare. A charnel scent, blood and bowels, burned gunpowder and singed flesh all mixed together to make a musk more at home in a slaughterhouse than this slightly-rundown manor home. Touch came to her a moment later, toned and powerful muscles throbbing distantly with the faint ache of recent, vigorous use. Flashes of several different lifeless corpses flicked through her thoughts, and she knew she had killed them all. Her Walther was in her hand, a lightness at her back suggesting she'd unloaded the spare clips she'd tucked there without realizing it. There was a smear of something on her cheek, light enough that it had to be blood. Some distant part of her mind was grateful it wasn't thicker. Wiping scrambled brains from skin was never an easy or pleasant task, and the smell usually lingered for quite a while._

_Her ears had 'returned' next, filled with mostly silence, though the steady, pattering drips of blood were entwined with the faded echoes of tortured, terrified screams. There didn't seem to be anyone alive in the room – at least, no one she recognized as an enemy. But there _was_ someone breathing nearby, a rough and uneven noise she recognized deep in her gut. The name had been immediate, threading her consciousness with urgent anxiety. Kirika – _

_In spite of the relief rising hot and hard in her chest, the turn to look across the room had been slow, almost negligent, her weapon held automatically in that direction as though it might yet find a target. Kirika had been standing almost flush against the far wall. Or perhaps standing was the wrong word; thick leather straps around her raised wrists were twisted over an exposed beam in the ceiling, dangling her small form like a piece of fresh meat. The litter of fallen foes was smaller here, only three or four slumped at her dark-booted feet. She was conscious, head lifted and lips slightly parted. Her gorgeous eyes were wide, stunned and perhaps a bit frightened, their rust color more vivid than usual against her paled skin. Her voice was rough, pained. "Mireyu?"_

_That softly accented name, said the way only Kirika could, was enough to temporarily shred the traces of whatever strangeness had gripped her. The Walther dropped slightly, and she swiftly flicked the safety on, tucking it back in the shoulder holster as she kicked aside the bodies in her path. "Kirika." She breathed her partner's name without meaning to, strides quick across the stained floor. Kirika flinched at the blonde's first touch to the ropes, shying away before realizing it was a rescue, not an attack. The younger woman was obviously dazed and hurting, muscles across her body wracked with small spasms again and again. She seemed to be drifting in and out. "Mirelle . . . eyes . . . Chloe . . . "_

_At the time, the rasped words hadn't made much sense. Distantly, she'd felt a flash of dark, confused anger and jealousy as she pulled hard on the stiff knots. The straps came free in a few seconds, and Kirika slumped weakly against her, body limp like Jell-O. Not that it mattered; Mirelle would carry her small partner from this hell in a heartbeat if need be. Still, the disjointed phrase had rankled her while she lifted the Japanese girl's light frame into her arms. Had Kirika really thought Chloe had come back from the dead to save her? She hadn't believed Mirelle would come?_

Back in the present, the Corsican's large eyes grew distant and dark with thought, light fingers trailing up and down Kirika's bare shoulder once more. It hadn't been until they were in the car, pushing the speed limit to its thinnest edge with the younger woman nestled safe against her, that she realized what her partner had meant. That was one of the things they had talked about, during those long hours of recovery. The way Kirika's eyes had changed in the heat of their most intense battles, especially during their fight at the Manor. How they'd mimicked Chloe's eyes – so full of blood-drenched darkness, without mercy or emotion – just the way her reactions did. The 'true Noir' eyes, Mirelle had commented sardonically. It was a realization that struck the blonde like a bolt of lightning. Kirika hadn't been saying she saw Chloe's eyes; she'd been trying to tell Mirelle _her_ eyes had changed, just like Chloe's.

Was that why Kirika had been so scared to look at her? Mirelle sighed, sapphire gaze softening as she looked down at that delicate sleeping face. So different, and yet, the features were as intimately familiar as her own reflection. "_Mon petit idiot._" She whispered, the soft words no more than a warm breath of sound. As though she would ever hurt the younger woman.

_You hurt her earlier. You slapped her and made her cry._

Mirelle shook the mental voice away, arms unconsciously tightening around Kirika. She didn't have the energy left to argue with herself. _Yeah, I know. I'm a nasty, selfish bitch, I'm a lousy partner that doesn't deserve her. Happy now?_

The voice was silent for a moment. _Yes, you can be a nasty bitch on occasion, and you've certainly got the selfish part down, but I'm not sure the last part applies as well as you might think._

_What the hell are you talking about?_ Mirelle not-quite buried her face in Kirika's thick dark hair, breathing the scent like a comforter. She knew she shouldn't, she knew it was impulsive and stupid, but she couldn't help it. _I almost got her killed!_

_And you saved her. You'd have ripped the world apart to get her back. How many men did you kill?_

_I – I don't know._ Mirelle hesitated. Something had happened when she was talking with Alexander, something that made her memories strangely hazy. She knew she'd killed him, that she spoken with Breffort and Lisa and that they'd told her where to find Kirika. And she knew that she'd killed every Soldat she'd come across in the manor home. But how she'd done it, the specifics, she couldn't fully remember. Only that they were dead, and at her hand. _They hurt her. They – _

_Were between you and Kirika._ The voice prompted helpfully. _Which is exactly the point. You may not be able to admit your emotions, but you still feel them, even stronger than usual when you enter that state. You adore Kirika, you lo – _

_Shut up._ The reaction was instant and intense, Mirelle's throat going tight. _I don't – that's not what it is._

That couldn't be what it was. A sinking feeling took over the pit of her stomach even as she cradled that lean form tighter to her. That just couldn't be right, could it?

There was a moment of silence, then a mental sigh. _If you say so. At least you had the common sense to get her back. Would've been a long night without her, wouldn't it?_

_Pain in the ass._ A yawn slipped out, wide enough to make the blonde's eyes flutter. If she wanted to be honest with herself, Mirelle knew she was nearly as exhausted as Kirika, sans the lingering effects of the drugs. It was only worry about her partner's condition that had kept her awake this long. Now that she knew Kirika was alright, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

_That's probably why I'm arguing with myself. I'm too tired._

Careful not to disturb the sleeping younger woman, Mirelle shifted the pillows slightly to a more comfortable position, one arm still wrapped around Kirika's shoulders. The next time the smaller girl woke, it wouldn't be alone. Another deep yawn, and the Corsican's eyes slipped shut, tense muscles relaxing completely as she drifted under. Her last conscious thought was of Kirika, that slender frame pressed so gently to her chest. A smile touched her lips, slow and sweet. _Sleep tight, Kirika._

_I'll protect you, I swear._

* * *

_Mireyu – _

Kirika woke in the deep, soothing darkness that wasn't quite dawn, wondering why her mind had pulled itself back to the land of the living. Judging by the shadows that still blanketed the room, it was a few hours after her nightmare – nowhere near morning yet. Puzzled, she lay still for a few seconds, trying to figure out exactly what had tugged her awake. There were no unexpected noises outside, nothing that would pull her from sleep . . . the bed was nice and warm, and she was so safe and content, though she couldn't remember exactly why . . .

A low, strained sound from behind her brought the Asian assassin's last waking moments roaring back. Mirelle! Mirelle had comforted her from her terrifying nightmares, held her and promised to stay with her while she slept. It was the blonde's elegant hand clutching her shoulder, the quiet whimper and shifting tension that had chased away sleep. Worry jolted through the younger woman like a shot. What was wrong with Mirelle? Why was she crying?

Carefully, Kirika rolled over, her earlier fear of seeing those inhuman eyes overruled by concern for her partner. Mirelle lay just behind her, no more than a few inches away, obviously still asleep and dreaming. The expression on her face was haunting, mesmerizing; eyebrows snapped sharply together, skin pale as fallen snow, full mouth thinned and twisted in a sharp look of terror and pain. Tension radiated from her lithe body, muscles wound so tight she seemed ready to snap. Her free hand was fisted so hard in the sheets the knuckles shone white, and tears glimmered on her lashes like caught diamonds. She was whispering something, voice a husky, almost sobbing sound.

"Kirika, no – don't, please, don't leave me – "

The words hit her unsuspecting partner with the force of a sledgehammer. Stunned, Kirika's body froze motionless, hardly daring to breathe. Mirelle was dreaming about _her_? Dreaming about her leaving, and it made her this upset? The thought was so shocking, the younger woman wondered for a moment if she was still asleep. Her stomach fluttered oddly, warmth flooding through her veins. Mirelle really cared that much?

Another soft whimper tugged at her heart as the Corsican assassin shuddered, elegant hand slipping from Kirika's shoulder to clutch at empty air. "Kirika?" Her murmur was hoarse, aching. "Kirika, please – "

Kirika didn't dare twitch, sudden instinct keeping her absolutely still instead of waking Mirelle from such obvious horror. The blonde's hand twisted on the mattress between them, searching in vain for some sort of contact with her partner. Outside their skins, the world seemed faint and far away, waiting with bated breath. Which one of them would break first?

Still, Kirika never expected the reaction that came after a few frozen seconds. Mirelle's face seemed to collapse in on itself, all sharp angles and contrasts of shadow and harsh moonlight. An agonized shudder wracked her lean frame, porcelain limbs trembling beneath the thin sheets, tears raining like lost stardust across the pillows. Her throat spasmed with a low, choking cry, wordless, but full of such pure grief it could have shattered stone. "Kirika, no! Kirika!"

The blonde's head fell forward, body curling in on itself, weeping as if her heart were broken. Kirika couldn't take the sight anymore. Lifting Mirelle's tight fist in her own hand, she shifted the last few inches between them, until she could tuck herself firmly once more against the Corsican beauty. One arm slipped around the blonde's waist, the other holding Mirelle's tight to her chest, willing her partner to feel the touch. Eyes burning, she spoke huskily, words breathed against Mirelle's neck. "Shhhh, Mireyu. I'm here, I'm here." Her smaller hand stroked the blonde's clenched fingers over and over, soothing the brittle, anguished tension she found there. Nestled this way, her head fit perfectly beneath Mirelle's chin, and she could feel the tears trickling down through her hair in warm, damp streams. Anguished suffering, made real and physical. It only tore her heart further. "Mirelle, I'm here. I won't ever leave you. I won't."

Mirelle stiffened for a moment, still dreaming, nerves still fraught with fear. Then, with a final convulsive shiver, the blonde assassin melted into Kirika's arms, her pained sobs trailing off to a soft sniffling. Her fist unclenched, shaken fingers interlacing with her partner's and clinging so tightly it almost hurt. Kirika didn't care. Her other hand trailed up and down Mirelle's back, tracing her spine through the thin fabric of the oversized white shirt. Pressing close, head tucked against the Corsican's shoulder, the younger woman found herself murmuring softly in Japanese. Just as Mirelle had earlier. "_It's safe, Mireyu. You don't have to be afraid. I'm here with you. I'm here._"

With one last, low whimper, the blonde buried her face in Kirika's thick, dark hair, the trembling of her lean body quieting. Her slowed crying stopped, breaths growing deep and even once more as she drifted back into normal sleep. Kirika lay still beside her, arms wrapped gently around her partner, still absently stroking the Corsican's back. Her mind was too full to sleep just yet. Why was Mirelle dreaming about her leaving? Why would she have such a terrible reaction to it? What could terrify her like this?

It was just so strange and confusing. Just like the rest of their relationship, Kirika thought wryly, careful not to disturb the her exhausted partner. Every time she thought she understood what was between them, something happened to throw everything into a mess again. Like this afternoon, when she was absolutely sure that this was it, they were through with each other –

– but Mirelle had saved her, even when she didn't feel like she deserved to be saved. Kirika's throat tightened. Mirelle had come after her, carried her from the death-trap, made certain her wounds were treated and comforted her in her nightmares. It was another of those things that brought more questions than it answered, like the blonde's terrifying dreams. If Mirelle was angry enough to strike her earlier, why had she risked herself to save the young woman only hours later? Mirelle might as well have told Kirika to leave, but the thought frightened her enough to give her full-blown nightmares?

Kirika sighed and curled herself tighter against her partner, shoving the whole thing resolutely from her mind. She knew this day had changed them both – it would take a fool to believe otherwise, and above all, Kirika was no fool. But how it would change them, or if those changes would stay, she had no idea. For now, she was content simply to comfort Mirelle, hold her as she slept and feel the same warm, comforting protection in the blonde's arms.

Unraveling could wait until morning.

* * *

_Muahahahahaha, buttkicking, angst and fluff! I looooove it! (glee) And the translation for Mirelle's limo comments are as follows:_

_" . . . pè e . . . donne dui . . . a manu neru se securità."__ Literally, "Of . . . two maidens . . . black hands keep safe." She's reciting the Noir litany in Corsican._

_"scusate tante ûn la sô, ûn capiscu mica." "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I didn't understand."_

_"Mon scuru ange." French and Corsican mix here. "Mon ange" is "my angel," "scuru" is Corsican for dark. Thus, "My dark angel."_

_"Vous êtes les miens . . . je vous protègrai." French here - "You are mine . . . I'll protect you."_

_"per piacè, per piacè, être bien." Another French / Corsican mix. "per piacè" is "please" in Corsican, "être bien" is "be okay" in French. So "Please, please, be okay."_

_And, finally, the lovely Noir rote in French: "c'est le nom d'un destin antique. Deux demoiselles qui régissent la mort. La paix nouvellement du soutenu, leurs mains noires se protègent._"_ Literally, "It is the name of an ancient fate. Two maidens who govern death. The peace of the newly born, their black hands protect."_

_That's it for now - reviews are loved and given many hugs as always._


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